


hand in my hand (you promised to never let go)

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dad!Tony, Depression, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Sleepwalking, Therapy Dog, Whump, and it's turned me into a total sap, i definitely should be focusing on finals, oh well, so much hair playing bc @parkrstark got me into that shit, worried!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 24,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: A collection of irondad drabbles posted on my tumblr!





	1. of separation anxiety and therapy dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Title from the song "Tightrope" from The Greatest Showman.

When Peter goes to college, he misses Tony.

And yeah, that was always going to be the case, was practically a given, but after - after everything they’d been through, they were closer than father and son. They lived in a constant loop of giving and receiving, of grounding each other.

When Peter has nightmares, Tony always slides into the bed next to him, holding him close and reminding him that, “I’m here, you’re here, it’s okay, we’re okay,” and running his hands through the boy’s soft curls until he drifts off to sleep again, comforted by the gentle rhythm of Tony’s heartbeat.

And whenever Tony forgets to eat and stops sleeping entirely, going mad with the need to keep adding updates to Peter’s suit to make him nearly invincible and ensure he’s never torn from them again, Peter walks in and takes his mentor’s shaking hands to remind Tony that he’s safe and not going anywhere.

So when Peter goes off to college, the toll it takes on them both is a large one. Peter’s first nightmare away from home has Tony suiting up in mere seconds before he makes his way to Peter. And Peter has to trust Rhodey and Pepper now, more than ever, to take care of Tony.

It’s not practical, for either of them.

Peter misses the steady presence of his mentor. He misses the hands in his hair, and he misses wrapping his arms around Tony like an octopus. He was always a tactile person, but after the snap, it became a more prominent part of him.

So now, the need for that physical comfort nearly consumes him, rests in his head like an itch that never quite goes away, and when he goes home for his first break, the first thing he does is fling his arms around Tony and clings.

That evening, they’re both on the couch, with Peter’s head in Tony’s lap as Tony lazily rakes his fingers through the dark locks of hair as Peter chats about his classes and professors.

They stay there for hours, and no one has the heart to interrupt them.

Eventually, there’s a lull in conversation where they simply just lay there and bask contentedly in each other’s presence. The kid’s eyes have closed, completely relaxed in a way he never is around anyone else except for May, and Tony smiles fondly.

He decides to bring up something Pepper had mentioned to him in passing one day, a thought he hadn’t been able to get rid of since.

“Hey, kid?”

Peter turns his face into Tony’s hand. “Hmm?”

“I want to talk to you about something,” he says, and Peter’s eyes open in concern.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So, I know being away from home hasn’t been easy,” Tony starts, and Peter immediately flushes red, feeling like a stupid child.

Tony taps his cheek lightly. “Hey, none of that. If I’m being honest, you being away hasn’t been particularly easy for me either.”

Peter looks up at him with questioning eyes, and Tony lets out a sigh.

“So, I was thinking - have you ever considered getting an emotional support dog?”

Peter’s eyes widen, and he sits up quickly.

“A dog?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.

Tony nods. “According to Pepper, plenty of college students get the option of bringing a registered cat or dog to campus with them. It helps them with anxiety, depression, PTSD, and - they make great cuddle buddies,” teases lightly, gently nudging Peter.

Peter looks away, hands fidgeting nervously. “I-I don’t - I’m not depressed,” he says defiantly, and Tony sighs again, reaching a tender hand out to turn Peter’s face back to his.

“Peter,” he says softly. “It’s okay. You’ve been through more than most people ever go through, and struggling with mental health doesn’t make you weak. You know this.”

Tony pauses and let’s the kid process his words, a conversation they’ve had many times before. But he’ll never stop reiterating it, not as long as Peter needs to hear it.

After what seems like an eternity, Peter speaks. “How would we do it? How do I get the certification?”

Luckily, Tony’s already thought all this through. “We’ll get Bruce to sign off saying that you’re eligible, and May and I can handle all of the paperwork. And, since I’m Tony Stark, I can have it all done tomorrow, and we should be good to go. If you want to, that is,” Tony says pointedly.

Insecurities aside, Peter starts to let out a small smile, excitement beginning to light his face.

“I always wanted a dog,” he says shyly. “But Ben said we didn’t have room for one, and May would never have been able to afford it.”

Tony pats his shoulder. “Well, you two won’t have to worry; I’ll cover everything.”

Before, Peter would have protested. He _hates_ feeling like a charity case, and he always felt a little wrong taking money from Tony. But they’re close enough now, that even though the discomfort isn’t entirely gone, he just smiles his gratitude and tackles Tony with a hug.

“Thank you,” Peter mumbles into his shoulder. Tony holds the boy closer and rubs his back.

“Anytime, kiddo.”

* * *

“Tony!” Peter whispers excitedly when he picks up the man’s video call.

“Hey, Peter,” he whispers back. “Why are we whispering?”

Peter smiles delightedly, and Tony marvels at how much lighter he looks compared to just a few weeks ago. The screen shakes slightly as Peter angles the phone down to his lap. Tony can see the Star Wars poster hanging on the wall of his dorm behind him before the camera focuses on the figure cuddled against Peter’s thigh.

“She fell asleep on my lap! Oh my god, Tony, she’s so cute and look at her precious face and her ears are so soft and she always licks me on the face whenever I get back from class, and oh my god I think I’m in love,” Peter gushes shamelessly, and Tony grins with fondness.

This is about how every conversation over the past few weeks has gone, and Tony doesn’t mind it one bit. Peter has seemed so much calmer and happier since adopting the black lab, who he named Tilly, “Short for Matilda! Because look at those eyes, you can just see how smart and mischievous she is.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along so well,” Tony says, entirely meaning it. Even though he still sometimes gets calls from Peter in the middle of the night, Tilly is very intuitive and good at sticking close to Peter when he’s in distress, and Tony is usually able to talk him down from his panic quickly without needing to physically be there.

So yeah, having the extra support and company has done wonders for Peter.

Peter grins at Tony, turning the camera back to face himself.

“Yeah, she’s _almost_ as good of a cuddle buddy as you are,” Peter says shyly, seemingly embarrassed by his own confession.

Tony just smiles softly at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a moment, too much distance between them, as Peter strokes Tilly’s sleek coat.

“Hey, Tony?” Peter says quietly.

“What’s up, kid?”

Peter looks down, focusing on Tilly’s gentle expression as she dozes contentedly.

“Maybe when I get home, Tilly can join us, too?” he asks uncertainly, referring to the nights they spend just lazing around together, basking in the knowledge that they’re alive.

“Of course, bud,” Tony says, judgement absent from his voice. He knows Tilly and Peter have formed an unbreakable bond already. Peter grins happily.

“Cool. I think I’m gonna try to get some studying in while she sleeps. Is that okay?”

Tony gives him an exasperated look. “Is it okay if you go study? No, not at all. I’d hate for you to put effort into your school work.”

Peter gives him a sheepish look. “Oh, yeah. Um, I’m gonna go now, but I’ll see you in three weeks for Christmas break!”

Tony smiles, warmth rushing through him. “I look forward to it.”

“Good night, Tony! Love you,” Peter says.

“Love you, too, Pete,” Tony says back, before hanging up.

Boy, does he owe Pepper.


	2. Experiment Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an experiment gone wrong, Peter's spidey sense goes all out of wack, making him dizzy and oversensitive. He tries hiding it from Tony, but fails. Then again, that's usually how it goes.

Peter’s spidey sense is practically his best friend at this point. It’s extremely helpful in predicting Flash’s appearances, dodging common criminals and villains alike, and even telling him when the frozen pizza he’d put in the oven was about to burn.

This also, apparently, applies to chemistry. He and Ned had been planning ways to make medically sound webbing that could work as a temporary bandage and help speed up healing processes and protect against infections.

After adding a chemical that _should have_ formed a precipitate but doesn’t, Peter’s spidey sense has the decency to alert him that something is _definitely_ wrong.

“Wait, why didn’t it work?” Ned asks, flipping back through their notes and equations, but Peter’s not paying attention to his words, instead focusing on pushing his best friend away in case the thing tries to explode.

“Wha - ?” Ned starts to ask, watching Peter with wide eyes as Peter stares at the beaker apprehensively.

Not even thirty seconds later, a light vapor is emitted.

Immediately, Peter clasps a hand over his nose, the smell strong and burning his airways almost instantly, already starting to make his head hurt.

“Peter?” Ned asks, alarmed.

Peter gives him an incredulous look. “You don’t smell that?” he asks through gritted teeth, voice muffled by his sleeve.

“A little bit? I mean, it’s not pleasant, but - seriously, dude, what’s wrong?” Ned prompts, looking worried as Peter practically keels over. “Maybe we should get a teacher.”

“No!” Peter hisses. “I’m fine. Besides, how would we explain this? Unless you _want_ to be kicked out of school.”

Ned looks at him doubtfully. The reaction, it seems, has completed, and now the slightly foaming solution is stilling its motion, settling into a resting state. Peter’s spidey senses, however, don’t seem to get the memo that the danger is gone. His nose still burns and - _oh yeah,_ Peter thinks in a daze. Of course his enhanced senses would be more sensitive than Ned’s.

“Can we - can we just clean up? Happy should be here in, like, fifteen minutes,” Peter says, trying not to pant through the words, because _holy shit_ , his head hurts and his spidey senses are still screaming _danger! danger! danger!_

Ned looks at him uncertainly. “I don’t know, Peter. I think maybe you should just go home. You’re not looking too hot.”

“I’m fine, Ned!” Peter snaps, sounding anything but. In the back of his mind, he feels guilty for snapping at his friend, but he doesn’t have the energy to say anything else.

Ned, bless him, doesn’t seem to hold it against him as they clean up in silence, Peter’s hands shaking slightly. When they’re done, Ned having done a majority of the work, they make their way into the halls and Peter gasps as the floor tilts sickeningly beneath him. For a second, he’s sure he’s going to fall, but then Ned puts a hand out and steadies him.

“Peter?” Ned says, looking almost frantic with worry now, and Peter takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second.

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I just… I just misstepped, that’s all,” he tries to reassure, but they both know he’s lying.

Ned opens his mouth to protest, but knowing from experience that pushing him will only make him even more defiant and agitated, he just closes his mouth again and discreetly helps his friend outside.

Happy, of course, is waiting for him in the sleek, black car, and Peter tries his best not to stumble drunkenly over as a waves goodbye to Ned and makes a mental note that he owes his friend big time.

“Hi, Happy,” Peter greets tiredly, shakily slinging his bag onto the seat next to him. The man, as usual, merely grunts back and this time, Peter is grateful for the man’s tendency to ignore him, because he _really_ doesn’t think he could manage a conversation right now.

He rests his throbbing head against the cool window, hoping for some relief, and his muscles remain coiled and tense, body ready to spring into action at the first sign of real danger.

Peter’s not exactly sure what the hell is wrong with him, and he thinks maybe he’ll analyze it later, but for now, he just closes his eyes and rides the wave of nervous, sickening tension.

He barely registers the car coming to a stop, only looking up when Happy beckons him, staring at Peter with an uncharacteristic look of worry.

“You okay, kid?”

Peter bites back a groan as he straightens up and grabs his bag.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Long day. Didn’t sleep much last night.”

And Happy, never one to pry, merely opens the door for him, and Peter does his best to walk normally, fighting the haze that wants to drape across his mind and vision like an unwelcome blanket.

Peter makes it to Tony’s lab, fighting to stay upright but determined to play it off, because he treasures the days he gets to spend working at his mentor’s side.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony greets, barely looking up when the kid walks in.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter says, hoping to God that he doesn’t sound as breathless as he definitely feels.

Tony just smiles at him a little, and Peter sits down at the desk Tony had set up for him awhile back. He flips idly through the various papers and sketches, but his heart really isn’t into it.

The music Tony has playing seems to grate at his ears, and Peter has to physically resist the urge to clasp his hands over them, an agitated whimper working its way up his throat, because his senses are going so haywire.

“Kid, can you pass me the philips head?” Tony asks, from where he’s literally elbow deep in his latest project.

Peter _really_ wants to tell him to make DUM-E get it, but he knows that’d only draw attention to himself, so he tiredly lurches to his feet, legs feeling like they’re filled with sand and head stuffed with cotton.

He’s glad Tony’s too focused on his project to get a good look at Peter because he’s sure he probably looks just as bad as he feels right now, dizzy, disoriented, and tense.

Peter places the tool into Tony’s outstretched hand and Tony gives a quick thanks, before Peter starts to walk away.

“Wait, I might need you again in just a second,” Tony tells him, and Peter nearly cries at the words because all he wants to do is sit down.

Nevertheless, he stands there, the music pressing in on his nerves, brain practically screaming at him that everything is a threat, and head pounding mercilessly.

He’s just about to try to get Tony’s attention, when his vision starts tunneling, a blanket of darkness finally engulfing him.

The last thing he hears as he goes down is Tony’s loud swear, and then nothing at all.

-

When he wakes up, he’s in a dark room. He tries to sit up, limbs heavy and lethargic, but a quick hand gently presses him back against the pillows.

“Easy now,” a familiar voice says, and Peter shakes his head, willing his eyes to see through the darkness.

When his eyes finally adjust, he sees Tony sitting on a chair next to him, face etched with concern.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter mumbles blearily.

“Yeah, kid. It’s me. You passed out in the lab. Do you remember that?” he asks, studying the boy’s face carefully.

Peter furrows his brows, struggling to think through the fog in his brain. After a minute or two, details from earlier start to seep through, and he remembers the incident in the lab at school and how awful he’d felt after that. He only vaguely remembers making it to Tony’s lab and handing him a screwdriver, but after that, there’s nothing.

“Oh,” Peter says, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah,” Tony nods. “Oh. Happy told me you seemed off on the ride over. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling good?” he asks sternly.

Peter toys with the sheets nervously. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Tony gapes at him. “You didn’t - Peter, you literally just _dropped!_ I had no clue what was wrong.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen. Ned and I were working on a new version of my web fluid, but it emitted this vapor and I think it messed with my spidey sense and I just - I’m so sorry,” Peter rambles, rushing to explain himself and feeling more than guilty for worrying the man.

“This is exactly why we have adult supervision in labs, Pete,” Tony says in exasperation. “Jesus Christ.”

Peter looks down, face red with embarrassed. He can’t believe he passed out in front of Tony freaking Stark. How humiliating.

Tony rakes a stressed hand over his face. “Look, kid,” he sighs. “You’re not in trouble. You just scared the living shit out of me.”

Peter nods and stutters out another apology.

“Ah,” Tony interrupts, holding a hand up. “No more apologies. Just promise to actually let me know when something’s wrong in the future. So I don’t get any grey hairs.”

Peter nods, a smile quirking his lips. “Of course, Mr. Stark.” After a moment of companionable silence, Peter smirks before saying, “I don’t know, Mr. Stark, your hair’s already looking a little grey, don’t you think?”

Tony adopts a look of mock hurt and ruffles Peter’s curls roughly. “Rude. Offensive. Insufferable is what you are. Next time I’ll just leave you on the lab floor and let DUM-E take care of you.”

Peter just laughs and swats at Tony’s hand.

“Yeah, sure you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I love feeling insecure about my writing and stressing over finals and crying a lot. Really loving this. Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this. I wrote it in response to a request I got on my tumblr, which is @the-great-escapism. Side note: how do people hyperlink here? Am I just a dumbass?


	3. do not go gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, this is how it goes. Or, Tony Stark as he sits alone on a ship, waiting to die.

In the end, this is how it goes:

Tony lies there and he thinks. He remembers. He turns every good memory he has over in his mind and savors every second of it, because God knows he’s spent far too long fixating on the bad.

He turns his back on the stars.

He turns his back on the stars because they never did him any favors. Their gravity always tries to pull him in, but he fights it every time. He claws his his way out every time, fights against the odds that want him to lose.

(It’s different this time. He knows this.)

Tony walks through the cockpit, where he’s spent hours trying to do the one thing he’s always been good at: engineering. He was never very good at fixing relationships (and _oh god_ , he’s going to die before ever mending things with Steve) but he could always rely on his hands. Wires and circuits were dependable in a way people never were.

It’s not enough. He doesn’t have enough. His hands can’t create oxygen and he is going to die in the darkness of space all alone. He should have known when he made it out of the wormhole. He should have known then that the stars would never truly let him go.

He sits against a panel on the floor and feels lonely desperation creep in. Across from him, there’s a hole where he’d punch through a wall, back when he had the strength to be angry at the universe for making him do this.

(That anger is gone now, replaced by despairing acceptance.)

He feels the air thin out.

It’s not the worst way to go, he thinks distantly. He had time. He got to remember everything that made his life so worth living. That despite every god-awful thing that’s happened to him, he’s gotten the best things out of it.

His best friend, Rhodey. Rhodey, who was there for him from the very start. Who stuck by Tony’s side through all his crazy, drunken escapades and everything that came afterwards.

He got Happy, his friend and security guard who put up with so much shit from Tony. Happy, who’s driven him home drunk more times than he can count, who’s cleaned his vomit off of car seats and stayed by him anyway.

He got Peter. The strange, quirky, excitable kid that reminded Tony of what he himself could have been if he’d had a different upbringing. Peter, who is unabashedly nerdy, who is humble and pure in every sense of the word. Peter, who was so much better than Tony ever could have been. Peter, who was practically his kid. ( _Last night, I dreamt we had a kid. It was so real._ )

And lastly, he got Pepper. Pepper, who always brought out the best in him and called out the worst. She could run the world, he’s sure of it. Pepper, who’s saved his ass more times than he can count, sweet-talked him out of so many sticky situations. Sweet Pepper, with her fiery personally and fierce loyalty. Pepper. It always comes back to Pepper.

He didn’t even get a chance to marry her.

“When I drift off… I will dream about you. It was always you.”

His heart races now, desperate to pump oxygen throughout his body, but it’s running out. He’s out of time.

In the end, this is how it goes:

He leans back and he pictures Pepper. Whispers “I love you I love you I love you” to empty air and hopes that somehow, she hears. When he falls asleep, he dreams of her.

He doesn’t wake up.


	4. of pasta and many tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What if Tony was taught different languages at a young age because it makes a good impression of your company and Peter doesn’t know this so one day Tony starts spouting another language and Peter is shook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Google translate for the bad Italian, so don't kill me. I'm sorry this sucks lmao.

They’re cooking, which has become a more common occurrence over the past few months. Before Peter, Tony wouldn’t be caught dead in a kitchen. He’d typically order expensive takeout or simply have a chef cook the food for him.

But then Peter entered his life.

Peter cooks most of the meals at home, and May just provides the ingredients. Before Ben died, cooking was a thing Peter and him had done together. After Ben’s death, May tried her hand at cooking, and after one too many disastrous attempts, Peter stepped in and took over.

He doesn’t mind, though. It always helps him feel closer to Ben, not to mention it helps him relax. It’s like chemistry, except you get to eat the products.

When Peter was over at the Compound for the weekend, he offered to cook for the two of them. He insisted on it, really. After the first few meals, Tony felt weird about the kid cooking for him and started pitching in.

So now, it’s become a bit of a tradition.

Today, they’re making homemade pasta, which Peter is so excited about since they never had the instruments to do that at his apartment. He has FRIDAY playing one of his favorite musicals, Dear Evan Hansen, and even though the man doesn’t get it at all, Tony lets the kid indulge in it, smiling fondly when he sees the kid mouthing the words.

“You know you can sing out loud if you want, right?” Tony asks, hiding a smile when Peter ducks his head and tightens his lips in embarrassment. “Aw, don’t be shy, kid.”

Peter kind of wants to hit him with a ball of dough, but then he’d have to get it flattened out again. Not worth it.

“I’m going to tell Pepper you’re bullying me again,” Peter threatens, and Tony gives him a look of mock horror.

“Me? Bully you? I would never!” he gasps innocently, and Peter just rolls his eyes.

He finishes putting the last sheet of thin dough through the shredder and then places all the strips out onto a tray.

“Is the water boiling yet?” he asks, and Tony looks over his shoulder.

“Yup, just about. Cool, I’m going to check on the sauce while you put the pasta in,” Peter tells him, before moving over to the stove.

The cool thing about Tony being rich is that is kitchen is the most extra. He has not one, but _two_ stoves and ovens, each on different sides of the room. While Peter pokes at the sauce on the stove of one side, Tony is across the room, carefully plopping the strips of uncooked noodle into boiling water.

Peter’s just about to add a little rosemary when he hears a splash and then a yelp behind him.

“Merda! Fa male, cazzo!” Tony curses, and Peter turns around in surprise.

“Stai bene?” Peter asks, automatically switching to his secondary tongue with ease. Tony, who’d been sucking on his finger to ease the pain where boiling water apparently splashed on him, freezes and looks up at him.

“Parli italiano?” he responds in surprise.

“Yeah,” Peter answers, switching back to English. “May’s family is Italian, so she speaks it quite a bit. I haven’t picked up that much, though. Spanish is more my forte. You?”

Tony slowly dumps the rest of the pasta into the pot, careful not to burn himself this time. “Oh, I’m fluent in six languages and so-so in another four. It’s just part of growing up in the Industry,” he shrugs. “Makes a good impression. Easier to communicate directly.”

Peter nods, eyes wide. “Mr. Stark, that’s _ten languages!_ That’s so cool!”

Tony gives him a fond look. “If you say so, kiddo. Now go wash up while we wait for this to cook.” He can’t help but wince at how _domestic_ and _fatherly_ he sounds. Tony shakes his head as he watches the kid bound down the hall enthusiastically. Nothing gets the kid happy like a big meal.

And when they finally sit down to eat, the meal tastes as good as it always does.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a dumb headcanon I came up with: Tony keeps a notebook with the names of everyone he's directly or indirectly killed in it. Peter finds said notebook.

Tony has a little notebook that he carries around with him at all times. In it is name after name of people who have been killed due to things the Avengers have indirectly or directly caused.

One day, Peter finds it in the pocket of Tony’s suit jacket which was draped over a chair. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help his curiosity. He opens it to the first page and it takes him a second to realize what it is. Names and dates.

When Tony walks into the room and sees what Peter has, his face pales. His knee-jerk reaction is to snatch it out of the kid’s hand, maybe snap at him not go to through other people’s clearly-private belongings.

But then he takes in the sight of Peter’s wide eyes and falters. Those eyes won’t ever hold the same childlike faith in Tony again, won’t ever look up at him like he hung the moon and carefully wove the stars into the fabric of the night sky. Tony never deserved it, but something in his chest aches anyway.

He watches as Peter carefully closes the little notebook and approaches him, eyes searching Tony for an answer to the question that sits heavy between them.

Peter must find whatever he was searching for, because he casts the book aside dismissively and straightens his shoulders, a determined look on his face. He makes sure he’s looking Tony straight in the eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter whispers into the silence, but the words strike a chord within Tony, a sound that echoes in his soul. He shakes his head. The kid doesn’t understand.

It’s all his fault. All of it.

Peter slowly, as if worried he’ll spook Tony, wraps his arms around the man, and something inside Tony thaws. This kid, who’s just held the weight of Tony’s sins on his fingertips, has cast them aside as if they’re nothing.

And when Peter looks up at him again, he’s still got stars in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super short but I figured I'd post it here anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter hates goodbyes. (In which Peter goes off to college.)

Peter hates goodbyes.

They taste acidic on his tongue and form knots in his throat. The finality of the word makes him gag. He’s already had to say far too many goodbyes.

He avoids the word at all costs, now. Finds alternatives, settles for “I love you” and “see you later” ~~and “I’m sorry.”~~

The night before he leaves for college, he doesn’t sleep. He wanders the Compound, listens to May’s even breaths in the room next to him. He paces, takes in every little detail and commits it to memory, the low hum of machinery a comfort.

He’s not sure how he’ll sleep without it.

After the war, he and May moved into the Compound. None of them wanted to be apart, not after everything, so this was the next best alternative. It was a hassle to keep Peter at Midtown, but they made it work.

Today, he goes off to college.

Logically, he knows May and Tony are only a phone call away, and Ned and MJ are constantly bickering in their group chat, but it’s not the same. It’s not.

He won’t be able to walk into the living room whenever he wants, only to find a stray Avenger just sitting on the couch watching Netflix, won’t get to laugh when they bicker over who gets the remote. He won’t get to cook dinner with Pepper or play video games with Clint or get Thai with May whenever they’ve had a long day.

He won’t get to have all the things that make up the word _home_.

Peter stops walking suddenly, realizing where his feet have unconsciously taken him.

He’s standing outside a ridiculously fancy bedroom door. Tony’s room. Peter strains to hear, surprised to realize the man is actually asleep. Pepper, he knows, had to fly to Seoul yesterday for an important business meeting.

She already said goodbye. He settled for “I’ll see you soon.”

He’s still trying to think of what he’ll say to May.

For a minute, Peter just stands there, his previous restlessness deserting him.

(He’ll miss this, too. He’ll miss being able to listen for heartbeats and breaths and all the reassurances that he’s still here and everyone he loves is still here, too.)

He doesn’t want to wake Tony up, but he also doesn’t want to deny himself the luxury of his mentor’s presence. He settles for a compromise, softly tip-toeing the rest of the way to the door and sliding down to the floor, leaning against the wall.

_I’m here_ , Peter tells himself. _Tony’s here. May’s here._

(They won’t be. They will, in all the ways that matter. But it’s not the same. It’s not.)

He’s not sure how long he sits there, knees tucked to his chest and head tilted back against the wall, but he’s suddenly aware of soft footsteps on the other side of the door.

Before he can even process what’s happening, the door swings open.

“Peter?”

The kid blinks up tiredly at the figure standing above him. Tony’s staring at him with open concern.

“Tony,” Peter croaks, and he thinks that maybe he means to say more, but a vice wraps itself around his throat, and he closes his mouth again, settling for silence.

Tony studies him, eyebrows furrowed. He takes in the tired appearance of the kid, sees a plea in his eyes that maybe even Peter isn’t aware of. Tony makes a split-second decision.

“Come on, kid,” he says quietly.

He holds out a hand to Peter, pulling him up.

For a moment, Peter contemplates shaking his head and making a fast retreat to his own room. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be bothering the man who barely gets enough sleep as it is.

But Tony must see something in his face, because he gently grabs Peter’s wrist and tugs him into the room.

As they quietly pad over the to bed, Peter notes the clock on the nightstand that reads 3:17AM. Five more hours until he leaves. A panicked noise leaves his throat, and Tony turns around quickly, following Peter’s gaze. The man’s face softens in understanding.

Tony peels back the comforter on the giant bed and climbs in, looking expectantly at Peter when the kid just continues to stand there.

They’ve only done this a few times.

After the war, both of them were wrecked with nightmares and flashbacks, and the need to know the other was safe, to know Peter wasn’t crumbling to dust in Tony’s arms all over again, was all-consuming. But they’ve gotten better, and it’s been months since Peter’s wound up here.

Eventually, Peter gives in, crawling into the space next to his mentor. Pseudo-father, even.

Peter can’t help the relief that floods through him when the man wraps a gentle arm around him and runs fingers through his mess of curls.

This, he thinks, is home.

Tony just stays silent, never once pressuring Peter to speak. Peter tries not to watch the clock, tries not to think of how, in a few hours, he’ll have to leave behind everything he knows.

And he knows he’ll come back for breaks and long weekends and holidays, but it’s just not the same. It’s not.

There are words bubbling up inside of him, filling the air around him, and he wonders if Tony can hear them.

He thinks of the first time he ever met Tony, at the Stark Expo when Peter was just a little boy. He remembers how Tony saved him, how Peter knew from that moment on that he wanted to be a hero, too.

He thinks of the second time he ever met Tony, the man sitting casually on the couch in Peter’s living room. How he saw Peter for who he was, knew he was something more than Peter Parker but always appreciated the kid beneath the mask.

He thinks of his last moments on Titan.

“Goodbye” would have been appropriate then. But that’s not what he said.

“Goodbye” might be appropriate now, too, but the word wells up in his throat, the vice tightening, and he knows that’s not what he’ll say now, either.

Tony’s looking at him now, gaze soft and fond as he continues to run gentle fingers through the kid’s hair. Waiting. Patient. Understanding.

Peter swallows thickly, thinking of the best alternative. He thinks of everything Tony’s done for him.

The words, he realizes suddenly, are obvious. They won’t quite be enough, but words never are. Not really.

(But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth saying.)

Peter turns his head, locking eyes with Tony.

“Thank you,” he says simply, quietly.

Tony’s expression cracks, for just a split second, before he’s composing himself again, gently cupping the back of Peter’s head into his chest in a tight hug.

Goodbyes, Peter thinks, are overrated anyway.


	7. getting help is okay (a secret is only a secret as long as you're willing to keep it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mental illness is scary, but sometimes, getting help is even scarier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depression and mentions of an eating disorder.

Peter sits on the edge of his bed and looks down at his knees, which bounce erratically from the force of his anxiety. He knows May and Tony are waiting for him, are worrying about him, but he needs a moment to remember why he’s doing this.

He could go on. He could make up a non-issue and pretend like that’s the problem, turning the focus to a small thing to get the bigger, real problem out of the frame. He imagines it:

“I’m sorry, I made this into a much bigger issue than it really is. I just - I’m really struggling to focus in school lately. I don’t know what it is, but I’m worried it’s going to affect my grades and lower my GPA.”

(Better than telling them he doesn’t eat anymore. That he can barely stand the thought of it.)

Or he could go with, “I don’t know, I’m just really tired. Like, all the time. It’s really messing with me and making it hard to get things done and I wanted to see if you guys know how I can fix it? I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

(It’s easier than telling them he’s stopped sleeping altogether.)

It wouldn’t be hard to give a half-truth, either. “I’ve been thinking about Ben a lot lately. I don’t know, it’s just been really hard. I miss him. And I love Tony, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m replacing Ben with him.”

(He doesn’t know how to tell them he’s depressed. That it permeates every cell in his body and weighs him down like lead.)

For the past week, he’s felt himself splintering. The process of breaking, he’s found, happens slowly and then all at once.

Yesterday, he found himself curled up on his mattress and crying into his fists for reasons he couldn’t even pinpoint. All he could think of was how _tired_ he is, how long it’s been since he’s been able to eat a meal, how stressed and sad he is all the time.

It sounds stupid. He’s Spider-Man for god’s sake.

(But mental illness doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t care who you are.)

The only thing Peter knows anymore is that he doesn’t want to keep being like this.

So, on impulse, he texted Tony and May both, wanting to avoid having to look either of them in the eye as he tells them he needs to talk to them.

(He’s too far down to climb out on his own.)

Peter’s scared. He’s so _fucking_ scared. He knows May and Tony will love him, regardless. But he doesn’t know what’s going to happen, doesn’t know how to be anything other than the mess he is right now.

And without the mess, who is he? Depression is certain. But happiness has a history of wavering. Rock bottom is less scary in that way.

Peter looks at his doorway, where he knows May and Tony sit just down the hall, tense with a mixture of curiosity and worry. He squeezes his eyes shut, fear whispering into his ear, telling him to just lie his way out. To convince them it’s nothing after all.

 _No_ , he thinks determinedly. _I want to be more than this._

With that thought in his mind - the thought of being something _other_ , something more - he gathers his skeletons and he walks out.

(This is how recovery begins.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm adding so many chapters all at once. There were a few things I posted to tumblr but never put here, so I decided to go back through and add them so I could have them all in one place. This collection of works isn't really about kudos or comments, but they're all so, so appreciated!!


	8. a light in the room (it was you who was standing there)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that scene in HP where Harry uses the resurrection stone and he asks Sirius, "Does it hurt? Dying?" And Sirius is like, "Quicker than falling asleep." ??? That, except it's Tony asking Peter on the ship as he waits to die. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song "Run to You" by Pentatonix,

Tony isn’t very religious.

He might have been, at one point. But then he kept getting tossed into one bad situation after another, and no matter how many times he prayed for salvation, he was always left to save himself.

In the moments before Peter crumbled to dust in his arms, Tony screamed at God or whoever the hell was out there watching this shitshow. Begged them to let Peter stay. He thought, for one painstaking second, that maybe his prayers were finally being answered. It seemed as though Peter’s advanced healing might be enough.

(It wasn’t. It never is.)

And now, Tony waits on a ship, alone in space. He’s going to die this time. He knows this. He knows this.

He knows he’s going to feel the air thin out, knows on a cellular level what happens when the body stops receiving oxygen. He knows that his lungs will burn and his body will tingle and go numb and eventually, mercy will be found in sleep.

He knows he won’t wake up.

And all these things do happen. He doesn’t notice the air at first, but once he does, it’s all he can think about. His lungs try their best to pull oxygen from his surroundings, but there’s nothing left and he takes gasping breaths.

He thinks about all the times he was supposed to die. About all the monsters he’s faced, all the ways he could have gone down burning, but in the end, it’s a fucking lack of oxygen that’ll take him. The human body is weak.

(But he already knew that too. After all, Iron Man was born to protect him from his own human vulnerability.)

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, chest heaving desperately and _oh god_ , he’s so scared. He’s so fucking scared, and it’s so cruel that after - after everything that’s happened, this is how he’s got to go. He tries to think of Pepper, but all it does is make him ache because _he doesn’t even get to say goodbye._

“Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyes fly open at the whisper, a voice so familiar yet so _impossible_ that he’s sure he’s hallucinating. Everything in front of him is blurry and out of focus, save for one lone figure, shining with clarity. He blinks again, but when he opens his eyes, the kid is still there.

“ _Peter_ ,” he gasps brokenly. Tony tries to get up, to get closer, but he can’t seem to make his body move.

Peter smiles at him sadly, shaking brown curls out of his face. He’s not wearing the Spider-Man suit anymore. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of weathered jeans and one of his characteristic nerdy t-shirts with a science pun on it. He looks so much like a kid that Tony nearly cries.

(And he would, too, but there’s no water left in him to spare.)

Tony reaches out to the boy and lets out a frustrated groan when his hands go straight through. Peter looks at him with compassionate eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m just here to help you through,” Peter tells him, and even as he says it, Tony can feel himself fading fast.

“Pete. Peter,” he pants desperately, looking the figure straight in the eye. “I - I’m so sorry. I failed. I never meant for you to die - any of you.”

Peter shakes his head, a fierce look on his face. “It’s not your fault. I chose this. I wanted to help the little guy, remember? We just - don’t always get to win.”

Tony looks at him, trying to find comfort. His head falls back to the wall behind him, and he knows any minute he’ll pass out. His time his up. His face crumples, and he gasps again as stares at the boy. Peter was practically his kid, but now, in the dark isolation of space, Tony can’t help but feel like _he’s_ the kid now.

He can’t stop the childish question that bursts from his lips.

“Does - does it hurt? Dying?”

For a second, Peter’s eyes take on a faraway look. Because for him, dying _was_ painful. He felt every cell in his body working so hard to keep him together but being ripped apart anyway.

But Peter’s mentor doesn’t have the same dilemma. At the height of his severe discomfort, Tony will fall into a deep sleep. And then he’ll be gone.

Peter gives him a steady look and a small smile. “Quicker than falling asleep,” he says reassuringly.

Tony lets out another panicked breath, hanging onto the kid’s words like a lifeline. Just past Peter, he can see the light glinting off his mask, still resting on the floor. He remembers the promise he made to Pepper.

_“When I drift off, I will dream about you.”_

Tony’s clock is almost up, but he still manages to utter the single word, a question. “Pepper?”

Peter nods understandingly. “She’s okay, Mr. Stark. She’ll be okay. She loves you. And she knows you love her.”

Tony nods and closes his eyes, picturing her beautiful face. He can’t help the wave of bitterness that washes over him. He was supposed to marry her. _God_ , he loves her. Pepper, who was one of the strongest, fiercest women he ever got the fortune to know.

He’s thankful he got the opportunity to love her.

Tony pries his eyes open one last time, and Peter’s still there.

“Stay with me?” he rasps, desperate last words.

Peter shifts closer and nods in reassurance. “Of course, Mr. Stark. Until the very end.”

Tony nods, a look of tired acceptance coloring his face as he lets his eyes close one last time. He holds the image of Pepper’s face in his mind for as long as he can and fills himself with all the warmth her love brought him.

_“It’s always you.”_


	9. Christmas pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas arrives. Peter stresses. (In which Peter tries to figure out what to buy a billionaire.)

“Peter, I’m sure he’ll love whatever you get him,” May tells the flustered kid for what must be the fifty billionth time. He vibrates anxiously, standing cluelessly in the aisle of the store and looking hopelessly at all the shelves.

“No!” he argues. “I mean, what do you even get a billionaire who could literally just buy whatever he wants? May, we were gonna do Avengers Secret Santa, but then he made the minimum spending price $1,500! We scrapped the idea right then and there.”

May laughs, shaking her head. That sounds _exactly_ like something the man would do. For all of his heroics, Tony’s still pretty clueless about what the majority of people would consider to be a “reasonable price.”

“Honey, I think you’re thinking about it too hard. Mr. Stark is going to love whatever you get him because it’s from you.”

Peter huffs, not feeling encouraged at all. He turns away from the shelf and stomps away childishly.

Stupid billionaires.

-

The next time he’s at the Compound for the weekend, Peter offers to help Pepper cook dinner. He enjoys cooking, but he also knows that for all his ingenuity, Tony Stark can’t cook for shit.

So Tony typically makes himself scarce while Pepper does the cooking.

If Tony’s surprised when Peter leaps at the chance to help Pepper, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he’s so preoccupied, Peter’s sure he could start dancing on the ceiling and the man wouldn’t notice. He rolls his eyes at the distracted noise Tony makes when Peter announces he’s going upstairs.

Pepper smiles warmly at him when he arrives. Peter rolls up his sleeves and quickly washes the grease and grime off his hands.

“Oh, you don’t have to help, sweetie. I’ve got it,” Pepper tells him, but Peter just brushes her off.

“No, I want to! The lab was starting to feel kinda stuffy,” he admits, crinkling his nose. She gives him a suspicious look before passing him the recipe.

He gets to work collecting ingredients from the various cabinets around the room. Peter grabs an assortment of vegetables out of the fridge, rinsing them and then splitting them between his cutting board and Pepper’s.

As the sound of chopping fills the room, Pepper eyes him studiously.

“So what’s really on your mind?” she asks, a knowing look on her face, and it startles Peter so badly he nearly slices his own finger off.

“W-what?” he stutters. “What do you mean?” he asks, trying to go for nonchalant and failing completely.

Pepper lets out a soft laugh. “Peter, I know you science-y types, and you never get sick of the lab.”

He grins sheepishly, looking down. Pepper puts down her knife and wipes her hands with a towel, turning to give the boy her full attention.

“Is everything okay?” she prompts, a layer of concern settling over her features.

“Yeah. I mean - no. Wait. Yeah, everything’s okay but kind of not really because - I don’t know, this is going to sound really stupid, but this is so hard because I don’t know how rich people work and Tony’s, like, _insanely_ rich and - “

“Whoa, hey, Peter calm down for a second. Breathe,” Pepper coaxes gently, putting gentle but firm hands on his shoulders. Peter inhales deeply, cheeks coloring slightly because - _oh my god_ \- he just broke into nervous rambling in front of the CEO of Stark Industries. And yeah, he’s used to Tony, but Tony has nothing on Pepper Potts.

Pepper could rule the world with a single look.

Instead, she places a tender hand on his cheek. “Now, what was all that about?” she asks, once he’s calmed down a little. “I don’t know whether I need to be worried or not.”

He looks down again, trying to avoid her piercing eyes. _Damn, God really_ is _a woman_ , he thinks absentmindedly. He’s pretty sure the woman can read minds and quite possibly control them too.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling small in the giant building, hyperaware of how even the cutting board he was using is probably worth more than him.

Pepper clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Nonsense. It’s not stupid if it’s something you’re worried about,” she reassures him.

Peter hesitantly looks up at her, feeling immensely inadequate.

“I just - Christmas is coming up,” he says lamely.

Understanding immediately lights Pepper’s eyes, and she nods, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

“And you’re not sure what to get Tony,” she finishes for him.

He swings his arms helplessly. “May says he’ll appreciate whatever I get him, but what even is there that he doesn’t already have?” Peter asks, running a stressed hand through his hair.

Pepper leans back against the counter, giving him a considering look. “You know, she’s not wrong.”

Peter sighs dramatically, throwing up his hands. “That doesn’t exactly help!” he says in exasperation.

She laughs, giving him a fond look. “Sweetie, the only thing Tony ever really wants is for the people he cares about to be safe and happy. That man adores you. I think just having you around is enough of a gift for him.”

And even though that’s really fucking sweet, Peter kind of wants to rip out his hair because that’s _still_ not exactly helpful. Pepper must see the frustrated look on his face, because she’s quick to continue.

“Tony loves you, Peter. Just give him something that reciprocates the sentiment, yeah?”

Peter’s just about to scream at the increasingly unhelpful advice, when suddenly an idea pops into his head. He relaxes his shoulders, eyes alight with excitement, because _oh man_ , this is so, so stupid and could totally backfire on him, but it is so worth a try.

Peoper’s watching him, smiling when she sees the gears turning in his head. She gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“You’ve got this.”

-

A few weeks later, Tony stumbles into the living room with a cup of coffee. He makes his way over to where Peter’s finishing the last of his physics homework and crinkles his nose.

“Kid, it’s a Saturday morning. Why are you doing homework?”

Peter swats at Tony’s hand when he tries to pull the papers away.

“I don’t want to have to worry about it later,” Peter says defensively. “Especially since we’re working on the new suit today.” He gives Tony a once-over, taking note of how disheveled and tired the man looks. “That is, if you can keep up.”

Tony blinks. “I cannot believe you just insulted me at seven in the morning.”

Peter gives him an innocent look. “Oh, sorry. I guess I get it from you.”

Tony gasps in mock hurt. “I can’t believe this! Attacked! In my own home!”

“A little dose of pain is healthy for you,” Peter informs him cheekily, and Tony ruffles his hair affectionately.

“Oh, really?”

“Yup,” Peter answers as he scribbles down another answer on his worksheet. He looks up again when Tony stifles a yawn. “We don’t have to work on the suit today. You’re tired.”

Tony waves his concern away. “Nah, sleep is for the weak. Besides,” he says, grinning suddenly. “I’ve got a nice, fresh cup of coffee served in my favorite mug ever to keep me going.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but on the inside, he’s absolutely _preening_ with happiness. Tony has been downright gushing about the mug Peter had gotten him for the past month to just about anyone who would listen (and even to those who wouldn’t).

“Jesus Christ,” Peter mutters. “I take it back.”

Tony snatches the mug away, curling around it protectively.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. No take-backs. I’m a certified dad now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Tony gestures to the surface of the glass, where three words are printed on the side:

_World’s Best Dad_


	10. Christmas pt. 2 - A Letter to Tony Stark (as written by Peter Parker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to last chapter.

Mr. Stark,

I know you always tell me to call you Tony, but that’s just weird. Can’t do that. You’re just - you’re Mr. Stark.

This is a little weird. Words aren’t really my language. Not like science. Or hugs. Hugs are good - you should indulge in them more often.

Anywho, I guess I wanted to thank you? You’ve done so much for me. From the beginning, you were always pulling me out of bad spots, ya know? Like when I was a kid at the Stark Expo and you saved me. It’s poetic, I think. Not that I know anything about poetry.

What I do know is this:

There are things money can’t buy, and sentiments that words can’t express. I can’t buy you a gift that is proportionally expensive to how grateful I am for you, and I can’t find the words that capture it accurately either.

English fails in that way.

But scientifically speaking, I’d like to think that in every universe, in every timeline, we were meant to cross paths. That even if Ben were to survive, it’d still be you who saves me. Somehow. I’d like to think you’re a universal constant.

Here’s the thing: everyone else loves Iron Man. And yeah, Iron Man is pretty damn cool. But also, Iron Man’s just a suit. A suit made and run by a man who is so much more than his tech. I think people forget that the real hero is a real person. It’s Tony Stark.

So yeah, a $15 mug doesn’t reflect the amount of gratitude I have for you, and the English language fails a lot. But I think it does pretty well summing this one up, don’t you think?

 _World’s Best Dad_ doesn’t get much more accurate, I don’t think.

Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark!

Sincerely,

Peter ~~(Parker)~~


	11. the physics of mental illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physics, it seems, exists from the inside out.

It is summer.

Peter feels hot pavement burning through the soles of his shoes. It’s one of the few things he’s felt in awhile, it seems. It scalds him. Grounds him.

He keeps his head ducked down as he walks through the packed streets, eyes shielded from everyone else’s. They’re not paying attention to him, but he does it just in case. Because if they really looked at him, they’d see.

(God, he just wants them to see.)

He walks. And walks and walks and walks. He goes in circles. Squares, really.

(There’s no room in the city for spirals, but his brain fills them in anyway.)

Movement, he thinks, is the only thing he really knows. The only thing he’s certain of. _Velocity_. It’s a good word. It glides across his tongue as if it doesn’t want to stop moving either. And when his world pauses and stutters, inertia keeps him going. But gravity keeps his mouth shut. His insides are a vacuum and he’s afraid that if he gets too close to anyone, he’ll steal their light in his desperation for his own.

Physics, it seems, exists from the inside out.

Everything is cold to Peter, except for his burning feet. His breath freezes in his lungs. It waits awhile to thaw until his organs burn painfully and he’s forced to let it out again. His blood moves sluggish in his veins. His thoughts stay suspended, and everything feels muted. Paused.

It is summer, but Peter is cold.

His tongue tastes sour from where he’s been letting lies roll off of it. He doesn’t eat much anymore, but he coughs lies up like air. He’s gotten good at that.

He lied to May this morning. Told her he was going to Ned’s. And then he lied to Ned. Said he couldn’t make it. Peter lies and lies and lies but there’s a vacuum inside of his that sucks the guilt from that up too.

Peter’s life is made up of nothing more than physics. Vacuums and velocity and friction and gravity.

He doesn’t even noticed when he’s stopped. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, in the gap between two buildings, before he blinks in awareness as he looks at the ground. His shadow isn’t moving, he realizes. But that can’t be right. An object in motion tends to stay in motion.

 _Unless otherwise acted upon by an outside force,_ his mind supplies distantly, and his eyes snap up suddenly.

Tony is in front of him, hands on Peter’s shoulders, lips moving and eyes tight with concern.

“Peter, come on. Check back in, buddy,” the man is coaxing, a sharp edge to his voice that Peter only vaguely recognizes as worry. He blinks up at his mentor in confusion.

“Ah, there you are. You with me now?” Tony asks.

Peter just crinkles his eyebrows, trying to look around him. Tony watches him carefully.

“You’ve been walking in circles for hours, kid,” Tony informs.

(That’s wrong, Peter wants to say. Inside his head, they’re spirals. It always comes back to spirals.)

“Oh,” he says instead. The stretch of his lips feels like defying gravity. He kind of just wants to sleep.

“Yeah, kid. ‘Oh.’”

They stand there for a minute, silence resting heavy between the two of them. Peter is thinking about how everything feels heavy and Tony is just studying him intently, trying to figure out how to start the conversation that needs to be had.

In the end, it’s Peter who starts it.

“Mr. Stark? Do you know Wolff’s Law?”

Tony’s grasp on his shoulders tightens slightly. “I’m familiar with it. It’s the tendency for bone to adapt under pressure, right?”

Peter nods but says nothing more.

“Peter,” Tony prompts gently. “Why does Wolff’s Law matter to you?”

The kid looks down at the ground again. He thinks about how heavy he is. How much heavier he’s getting. How maybe he’ll never move from this very spot again.

“What if it can’t adapt? What if it can’t grow stronger? What if it just splinters and breaks?” Peter asks.

His words are cold. They freeze in midair, then drop to the ground. They shatter like bits of ice against hot pavement.

Tony’s eyes suddenly light with understanding, and he moves a tender hand to cup the boy’s cheek. He knows the kid isn’t talking about bone.

“Kid, look at me,” he whispers softly. Tony taps his cheek and waits patiently for Peter to look up and lock his gaze onto Tony’s.

“Listen to me,” Tony says fiercely, looking Peter straight in the eye. “You are _not_ going to break. I promise. And even if you did, I’d just put you right back together again. But you’re not going to break. You are so much more adaptive, so much stronger than you could possibly know. Got it?”

Peter nods again, and that feels a little like defying gravity too.

Maybe it is.

And maybe it’s all heavy and maybe once he starts moving, he can’t stop, but at the end of the day, he’s got a Tony Stark.

At the end of the day, he’s got someone who will help him carry his burden, relieve the pressure, keep him going, and help him stop.

For now, it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't make sense, but when do I ever?


	12. goodbye is just a changing of the tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Morgan wants to be a hero. Peter reminds her she already is.

Peter is proud when Morgan joins the Air Force.

Tony - he’s proud too, but he’s been worried sick, heart stuck in his throat with fear from the moment she announced she’s enlisting. After she first talked to the recruiter, Tony hugged her tightly, then went to his room and cried.

But Peter’s been as steady for her as he can be, and they both know Tony is by her side too, now that he’s had time to process it.

Peter’s driving her back to the Compound after a long day of PT, just three days before she leaves, when a thought occurs to him. It’s been six months, and he’s never asked the one question that really matters.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, eyes still focused on the dark road ahead of him. Music plays low on the radio, a classic rock station that Morgan always listens to when she messes around in the lab with him and Tony. She’s not a science girl, but that doesn’t stop her from spending a good portion of her time there. It’s home.

She already knows what he’s asking. “You and Dad are heroes. I just want to save people. I guess you could say it’s in my blood,” she jokes, nudging him in the side gently.

He fixes her with a serious look before turning back to the road. “Mo, you know you don’t have to do that for us to be proud of you, right? You’re already more of a person than I’ll ever be.”

Morgan leans over and takes one of his hands, squeezing it tightly.

“Petey,” she says, and the nickname nearly brings tears to his eyes. She hasn’t used that name for him since she was little. “You know how everyone has things they want to be? Someone or something they strive to be? I just… I’m not exactly sure what that is yet, but there’s a list. And, I don’t know. When I get to the end of my life, I want it all checked off.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Bit young to be thinking about the end,” he comments, heart squeezing at the mere thought of her nonexistence.

“Nah,” she counters. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to have regrets.”

This time, it’s Peter who squeezes her hand. “You’re already off to a great start,” he reassures.

-

After Morgan swears in, they get five minutes to say goodbye.

Tony’s already crying, and Pepper is nearly there. For Peter, though, it’s internal, a deep ache in his chest that won’t go away. Morgan’s been his little sister for nineteen years. They’ve spent year after year tearing up Tony’s lab and driving Pepper up the walls. His life is going to be that much emptier without her around.

She gets passed around between them, and they do their best to cram in all of their “I love you’s” and “we’re so proud of you’s.” Eventually, though, the words aren’t enough - they never are, really - and Peter just hugs her tightly.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Peter whispers thickly.

“Then don’t,” she says. “Besides, goodbye is just a changing of the tides. I’ll be back to bother you soon.”

Peter pulls away and ruffles her hair gently. “When did you become so wise?”

She laughs. “No clue, but I know I didn’t get it from you or Dad,” she teases. “Must be Mom’s influence.

“Hey!” Tony protests, wrapping an arm around her. “I resent that.”

For a second, they all stand there in silent.

And then someone yells, “Alright, people, time to start clearing out!”

Immediately, Tony and Pepper pull Morgan in for one last hug, and she smiles at Peter from between the two. He holds up half of a heart with his hand, and she makes the other half.

And then it’s time to leave.

-

When Morgan opens up her large duffel back once she’s arrived, the first thing she sees is a piece of paper. She recognizes the messy scrawl as Peter’s.

_Don’t forget the things you already are._

When she unpacks her toiletries, she finds a sticky note stuck to the back of her hairbrush with the word _Brave._

When she puts on her favorite hoodie - one she stole from Tony - she finds another slip in her pocket. _Kind._

When she opens up her notebook to start recording the events of her journey, there’s already one word written on the first page: _Loved._

And when she puts on her shoes to start her first day of boot camp, she pulls out another slip of paper. She starts the day with these words:

_You’re already a hero to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone thinks Morgan joining the Air Force is a super weird headcanon, you’re right. I just said goodbye to my sister, so I twisted it into a Marvel thing so I could vent. Thank you for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a small thing that sets him off.

It’s a small thing that sets him off.

It’s always small things, a slow erosion of his stability, water chipping away at rock, and then suddenly there’s nothing left. They’re in Tony’s private jet, halfway across the country, headed for a conference in California, when Peter shoots up in his seat.

“Shit! I left my fucking burger in the fridge,” he cries.

Tony looks up at him from his StarkPad, eyebrows raised. “Not sure a burger warrants that kind of language, but whatever makes you happy, I guess.”

Peter clenches his fist irritably, something irrationally upset rising within him.

“It was a good fucking burger. I was going to eat it on the plane,” he whines.

“We have plenty of snacks. Hell, I can have someone make you a burger right now,” Tony tells him, trying to be helpful.

“No!” he nearly yells. _You don’t get it._ “I wanted _that_ burger.”

Tony gives him a considering look, no longer dismissive. It’s not like the kid to get upset over something so trivial and small.

“Kid, what’s going on, hm?” he prompts, taking in Peter’s flushed face.

To his horror, his eyes start to fill with tears and Peter blinks, swiping at his face angrily. Tony is out of his seat within seconds, going to kneel in front of the distressed teen.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. Talk to me, buddy,” Tony soothes resting a hand on Peter’s knee.

Peter fills with self-loathing, hating himself for being so upset over something so stupid. But he just wanted that one thing. That one, good thing. All he had to do was remember, but he couldn’t even do that one, simple thing.

He tries to look away from Tony’s piercing gaze, but the man just places a gentle but firm hand on his cheek.

“What do you need?” Tony asks softly, understanding that this isn’t just about some burger, and Peter can’t help the tears that spill down his cheeks freely.

He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say, doesn’t know how to describe the way depression and anxiety eats away at him, chips at his patience, throws him off balance.

So instead, he just presses his lips together, trying to keep the raging river of sadness and frustration and _you can’t do anything right, Parker_ inside of him.

He presses his face into Tony’s hand, and Tony brings his other hand to the back of Peter’s head, running his fingers through the curls soothingly. Eventually, Peter’s tears slow, and he lets himself fall forward into Tony’s chest.

They stay like that for awhile.

(One day, you’ll learn how to swim, but until then, you have to hold tight to the people who keep you from drowning.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Peter takes a step backwards. Tony is always there to help him move forward again.

Whenever Peter’s upset, he sleeps on the floor.

It’s completely ridiculous and totally irrational. But it’s a habit he picked up after Ben’s death. That first night, he laid on his soft mattress, staring at a ceiling with tired eyes, and nothing felt certain anymore. He just needed something concrete to hang on to.

So he curled up on the floor and slept.

He used to do it all the time, used to require the comfort of a hard floor beneath himself, something sure to cling to in the midst of spiraling thoughts and splintering world.

It doesn’t make sense, but these things never really do. They just are.

Peter does it a lot less now. In fact, he’d almost completely eradicated the strange habit, until the whole Toomes incident happened. And then he couldn’t help it, couldn’t help tucking himself in the corner of the room, trying to remind himself that probability of the floor collapsing beneath him is slim.

He’s staying the weekend at the Compound when it happens again.

Peter doesn’t even mean for it to happen. After everything he’s done as Spider-Man, the sound of a gun firing off definitely shouldn’t bother him. But it does.

In truth, he completely forgot about the indoor gun range, only a few doors down from the lab. The loud crack of a gun firing reminds him of its presence.

He freezes in his tracks, blood running cold in his veins. There’s a moment, frozen in time, when he thinks that all of gravity has settled itself in his stomach, only to explode outward and take his breath with it.

And then it’s over, and he’s left feeling unsteady.

He goes to bed early that night. Peter barely even thinks about it, body on autopilot as he walks straight past his bed and backs into a corner. He presses himself against the wall and curls into a tight ball.

He falls asleep with red behind his eyelids and a scream on his lips.

-

It’s hours later when Tony surfaces from his latest project, with a reminder from FRIDAY that he hasn’t eaten anything today. And, to be fair, he’s a busy man. Of course he’d forget to do nonsense things, like eat.

Tony is often irritated with human vulnerability. Hence the Iron Man suit.

It takes a second for him to remember that there’s a young teenager who’s supposed to be at his side.

“FRIDAY, where’s Peter?” he asks, feeling guilty for getting so caught up in his work. Now that he thinks about it, the last time he saw him was when Peter told him he was going to get a snack, around eight.

“He is currently in his room, sir,” FRIDAY informs him.

Tony furrows his brow at that. Usually the kid is so enthusiastic about lab work that he stays up until the early hours of the morning at Tony’s side.

“Is he asleep?” Tony asks, glancing at the clock. It’s only eleven o’clock.

“Yes, sir. He seems to be sleeping on the floor.”

Tony blinks. “What.”

“He seems to - “ the AI starts to repeat, but Tony just brushes it off.

“Yes, I heard you. But why is he sleeping on the floor? He has a whole bed to sleep on,” Tony says in confusion, already heading for the elevator to wake him up.

FRIDAY doesn’t even bother responding this time, letting Tony worry as he makes his way to Peter’s room. Tony quietly opens the door, taking a look inside. Sure enough, the bed his empty, looking completely neglected.

A quick glance around the spacious room confirms what FRIDAY told him. A small lump is curled in the far corner of the room, and something hard and cold inside of Tony melts just a little bit as he walks closer to investigate.

He starts to put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, reluctant to wake him, but Tony is sure the bed will be much more comfortable for him.

“Pete, wake up, buddy,” Tony says softly, shaking the kid’s shoulder just a little.

Immediately, Peter’s eyes fly open, wide and panicked but still glazed over with sleep. He clasps Tony’s wrist tightly, ready for a fight.

“Whoa, whoa, hey. Easy, kid. It’s me. It’s Tony,” he says calmly, waiting for awareness to seep back into teen’s eyes.

Peter looks up at him, eyes wide as he searches Tony’s face. Tony’s not quite sure what the kid is looking for, but he must find it, because his grip slackens and he leans back against the wall.

“Mr. Stark,” he croaks, voice still hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah, kid,” Tony answers quietly. “It’s me.”

For a moment, they sit there in silence, the weight of unspoken questions settling between the two. In the end, Tony chooses to only ask one.

“Wanna move this to the bed maybe?” he asks nonchalantly.

Peter’s response is immediate, quiet but firm. “No.”

Tony nods. “Okay,” he says, and then he gets up.

For a moment, Peter’s sure that Tony is going to leave, because why should Iron Man have to deal with some quirky kid sleeping on the floor?

But then Tony just walks to Peter’s bed and pulls off the comforter, pillows, and an extra blanket while Peter watches him in confusion.

Tony makes his way back over to him, tossing a pillow into his lap. Peter blinks at it blearily through sleepy eyes.

“What?” is all he manages to get out, but Tony picks up his slack. He’s always picking up Peter’s slack, and Peter kind of hates himself for it, but mostly he’s just grateful.

“We’re not having a slumber party without adequate bedding. It’s not allowed,” Tony tells him, and Peter just stares at him in confusion as the man lowers himself to the ground.

“What?” he asks again. Maybe it’s the only word he knows. But Tony is patient.

“Slumber party. I just invited myself. Here, take a blanket. It’s time to sleep. I’m tired, you’re tired. This works out perfectly,” Tony comments, already laying down with his head on his pillow.

Peter thinks for a moment, eyes far away, and for one fearful moment, Tony’s worried he crossed a line this time.

But then Peter shrugs, falling back against the wall. Tony gives him a small smile, worried and kind and concerned in a way the media will never show.

“Okay?” Tony asks, just the one word, and Peter is filled with gratitude. He can’t handle more than one. Not tonight.

“No,” he says, hoping that whispered confessions in the dark will never make it to the light of day.

Tony just nods against the pillow, not tearing his eyes away from Peter’s face.

“You will be,” Tony tells him. Three simple words. Not quite too much for Peter to handle. It’s just enough.

They break him a little.

Tony reaches a hand out and ruffles his hair, just a little bit.

“Good night, kid.”

When Peter goes back to sleep this time, he’s thinking of that app where you have to move all the blocks to make a straight path for the red block in the back to get out. And most of the time, you have to move the other blocks backwards for the red one to move forward.

(Sometimes, you’ll take a step backwards. And sometimes, that’s the only way you’ll ever be able to move forward, a necessary evil. But one day, you’ll be okay. You will.)


	15. Sleepwalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Peter sleepwalks. Other times, he clings. Sometimes, he does both. Tony has no choice but to just go with it.

After Ben died, Peter was wrecked with night terrors. May would wake up to his screaming and run to his room. Sometimes he’d be thrashing in his blankets, and other times he’d be pacing around his room, still asleep. The most alarming times were the ones where he ventured out of his room in his sleep.

Over the past couple of years, those flashes of red behind closed eyelids and choked cries dwindled down, until all that was left was Peter’s occasional tendency to sleepwalk.

It’s never been a problem, and he’s gotten used to not always waking up in his bed, while May is no longer shocked to find him asleep under the dining room table first thing in the morning.

They’re so used to it, in fact, that Peter completely forgets to mention it when Tony invites him to stay the night at the Compound for a long weekend.

It’s been fun so far. Completely exhausting, yeah, but he still can’t quite get over the fact that he got beaten up by Black freaking Widow! He’d happily let her kick his ass a billion times over if it meant getting to be in the same room at the Avengers.

So yeah, when they finally settle down for the night, he’s not even kind of thinking about the slight chance that he’ll wake up somewhere else.

He’s so tired, and he can already hear sleep calling his name. He goes to drifts off with one thought in his head:

_This is so unreal._

-

Tony and Rhodey are in the kitchen late that night, lightly conversing while nursing twin cups of coffee. And yeah, they probably shouldn’t be ingesting caffeine at two in the morning, but Tony’s practically immune to it by now and Rhodey, well… Rhodey just doesn’t care.

They’re discussing plans for the next day - “I was thinking about taking Peter to the track and having him race Steve. It’d be interesting to see who wins” - when the aforementioned kid walks into the room, surprising them both.

“What are you doing up, kid?” Tony asks, smiling in amusement at Peter’s wild curls sticking up with sleep. Peter, however, doesn’t respond, walking right past them towards the living room.

“Pete?” Tony prompts.

They watch, baffled, as Peter walks over to the big armchair in the corner of the room and curls up on it like a cat.

“Wha - FRIDAY, what’s wrong with the kid?” Tony asks worriedly, abandoning his cup to go examine the kid, Rhodey trailing behind him curiously.

“Mr. Parker appears to be sleeping walking,” FRIDAY informs them.

“Oh,” Tony says, taken aback. He’s not sure why he didn’t think of that in the first place. To be fair, Tony’s never housed a kid before, so he doesn’t really know what the hell he’s doing. He sends Rhodey an uncertain look, begging for help. “What do I do?”

Rhodey shrugs. “We could probably just drape a blanket over him. He looks pretty comfortable, and he’s not in any danger.”

Tony bites his lip, staring at the kid who’s eyes are closed as he settles back into total sleep. “That can’t be good for him. He’s probably sore after such a taxing day, and he’ll only feel worse if he wakes up like that tomorrow.”

Rhodey gives him an amused look. “Then what do you propose we do?”

“Move him? At least to the couch,” Tony says. Rhodey steps back, gesturing to the kid.

“Then by all means, go for it,” Rhodey tells him with a knowing look that Tony decidedly ignores.

Tony carefully crouches down in front of the kid, smiling softly at how peaceful Peter looks. He can’t help but notice just how _young_ he is. Tony sighs and tenderly runs gentle fingers through the kid’s hair before wrapping one arm underneath his shoulders and the other arm under Peter’s knees.

He lifts with a heave, knees popping under the weight.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony huffs as Peter’s head falls back on his shoulder. “You’re much heavier than you look, kid.”

Tony carefully tiptoes his way to the couch with his precious cargo, ignoring Rhodey’s fond look. Just as he’s about to gently lay Peter onto the cushions, the kid shifts, wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s neck like a koala.

“Pete, you gotta let go,” Tony tells the sleeping kid in exasperation as Rhodey lets out a laugh from behind them. Tony maneuvers his arms to try and pry Peter’s from his neck, but to his alarm, Peter’s grip won’t budge.

“Uh… Hey, Rhodey, a little help here?” Tony nearly snaps, still trying to shift Peter to the couch. Rhodey looks like he’d rather just keep watching, but a dirty look from Tony has him coming closer. He gently grabs the teen’s arms and tries to lift them off of Tony, but to no avail.

“What the fuck?” Tony asks.

“Tony…” Rhodey sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “I think the kid’s sticking to you.”

“You think?” Tony snaps, panicked. “Unstick him!”

“He’s asleep, Tony! He can’t,” Rhodey argues, sounding absolutely thrilled.

Tony sends him a glare. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Rhodey smirks at him. “Just let him sleep with you then. You’re practically his - “

“Don’t say it!” Tony warns.

“ - dad anyway,” Rhodey finishes, disregarding Tony completely. “Besides, a little cuddle never hurt anyone.”

Tony glares at him. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Rhodey shrugs. “I mean, unless you have a better idea, Mr. Genius.”

Tony sighs, closing his eyes tiredly. He looks at the kid in his arms, whose face is now tucked snugly into the crook of his neck. And damn if he doesn’t want to disturb him.

“Sleepover it is then,” Tony says with a resigned look. He straightens up, tossing Rhodey another dirty look as he shoulders past him towards his bedroom.

He just makes it there when he distantly hears Rhodey say, “FRIDAY, you got all of that on video recording, right?”

Tony rolls his eyes, making a mental note to kill his friend and delete the footage in the morning.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tony grumbles down at the kid as he makes his way to the large bed. He gently sets them down, settling back against the pillows and maneuvering the kid so Peter is just slightly on top of him, head pillowed by Tony’s shoulder and arms still tossed around his mentor securely.

Tony pulls the comforter over them and commands FRIDAY to turn out the lights. He listens to the sound of Peter’s soft puffs of breath. Tony freezes when Peter lets out a pathetic little whimper, pressing his face into Tony.

Without even thinking about it, Tony’s hand quickly comes up to Peter’s head, running his hand through the soft curls soothingly.

“That’s it, buddy. Just go back to sleep,” he croons softly, smiling when Peter lets out a noise of content.

They stay like that for awhile, Peter clinging to his mentor while Tony plays with his hair gently. It doesn’t take long for Tony to drift off, too.

(He’ll deny this until the day he dies, but Tony sleeps easier that night than he has in a long, long while.)


	16. Wedding Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a post on tumblr:
> 
> At Peter and Ned’s wedding, the photographer manages to catch a really sweet photo of Peter and Tony.
> 
> Peter smiles. Tony stands across from him, cupping Peter’s face in his hand and grinning just as widely.
> 
> And if his eyes are wet in the picture? Well, he can’t exactly deny it.

“Tony, were you crying?” Peter asks incredulously, squinting at the picture in his hand.

Tony peers over his shoulder, eyes widening. “What? No! The sun was in my eyes, but Pepper would’ve have killed me if I’d blinked during the photo so I just had to endure it.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk. “Yeah? So it had nothing to do with you feeling emotions?”

Tony gasps in a show of mock horror. “Me? Feeling things? That’s absurd.”

Peter just grins at him good-naturedly. “Ah. Of course, silly me.”

Tony gently plucks the picture from the kid’s - yes, he’s still a kid _goddammit_ \- hands and studies the picture, a rush of affection surging through him at the memory. It had been a good day. It was domestic and happy and pure in a way that very few of Tony’s memories are.

He looks up, feeling Peter watching him, and he feels choked up all over again by some emotion he can’t quite place. Without thinking, he reaches out and ruffles the kid’s hair, laughing at the resulting yelp.

“ _Tony_!” Peter whines.

His mentor laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close.

“Oh, sorry, I was starting to feel an - emotion, is it called? - and I wasn’t sure what to do with it,” Tony jokes.

Peter ducks away, pouting playfully, and Tony just smiles, studying the picture one last time before handing it back to him, swallowing down the remaining lump in his throat.

“Tony? You good?” Peter asks, watching him with a look somewhere between concerned and fond.

Tony clears his throat, glancing away. “Yeah, kid, I’m okay.” He hesitates. While he always makes sure that Peter knows just how much he loves the crap out of him, it’s rare that he says the words, and even more rare for him to say them casually. No, Tony’s always preferred giving and building. This time, though, he looks Peter straight in the eyes and nods at the picture.

“I guess I just love you too damn much.”


	17. LEGO House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In sixth grade, Peter and Ned started building a giant LEGO house in May's guest bedroom. On a bad day, Peter holes himself there. Tony joins him.

It started in 6th grade when Peter and Ned, still pretty new to their friendship, were hanging out at Peter’s apartment for the first time. As soon as Ned walked into his room and saw Peter’s stash of LEGO’s, he turned to Peter with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re my best friend now. It’s meant to be.”

Peter was thrilled to not only have a friend, but to have one that enjoys the same things as much as him. Star Wars? LEGOs? It really _was_ meant to be. And so they spent the whole night playing with the plastic pieces, swapping ideas and building intricate structures.

Then, absentmindedly, Peter sat back and said, “How cool would it be if we could build a whole freaking castle out of LEGOs? Or, at least, something big enough to sit inside.”

Ned shrugged. “I mean, why not?”

Peter tossed him a dry look. “Because that would take, like, a billion pieces and they’re _so_ expensive.”

The other boy just waved at him, dismissing his argument. “We can make do.”

And so they do.

Now, six years laters, they’re juniors in high school and their LEGO house just about fills the small guest bedroom in Peter and May’s apartment. The structure has four low walls, with windows on the side and thick blankets draped over the top for the roof. They even made their own banner to stick on the top, with a cardboard drawbridge door.

It’s not huge - it can’t be, but they’ve spent six years collecting the pieces, even going to Goodwill, taking advantage of sales, and putting all the LEGOs they get for birthdays and Christmas together. Half a decade of hard work has finally paid off.

It’s become Peter’s safe place, a dark space to curl up in the nest of blankets that’s kept inside. It’s quiet and dark and soft and all the things Peter needs when he’s had a bad day or sensory overload or any other of the side effects that come with being a teenage superhero.

One Saturday morning, he wakes up with a yell on his lips and red behind his eyelids, and he immediately knows it’s going to be a bad brain day. It takes him awhile before he can even convince himself to get out of bed, and when he does, he wraps his blanket around him and quietly walks into the guest room, lowering the door and curling up inside.

It’s not long before he hears May walk in, knocking softly on the door.

“Peter? You have the internship today,” she tells him, and Peter groans, lowering the door and squinting up at her. He’d completely forgotten about it. Her face immediately changes when she takes in the sight of his red eyes.

“Oh, baby. Rough night?” she asks gently, eyes soft with compassion.

Peter nods miserably but doesn’t elaborate. May doesn’t mind, though. Mostly she’s just upset that she’ll never be able to truly understand and help him. So instead, she reaches a hand out to cup his face, smiling when he leans into the comforting touch.

“Why don’t I call Mr. Stark and let him know you’re not coming? And later, if you’re feeling up to it, we can watch Jurassic Park and eat unhealthy takeout, yeah?”

A small part of him wants to shake his head and insist on going anyway. He can’t just blow off his internship for something so stupid. But the bigger part, the part that wins, loves the sound of staying in this dark little space he’s made with his best friend. So he just nods again, words failing him.

May pats him tenderly on the cheek before pushing up to her feet and leaving.

At some point, Peter thinks he should call Ned over to keep him company and maybe call Mr. Stark to apologize to him, but then he remembers that he left his phone in his room, and he doesn’t have the energy to move anyway.

So he just burrows himself into all the blankets, closing his eyes and trying to make himself see something other than death and destruction and failure. It doesn’t quite work, but it’s better. The weight of responsibility, he thinks, will never leave him. It will always sit in his stomach, an immutable force that drives the course of his life.

(He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be free of it.)

He’s not sure how long it’s been when another set of footsteps makes its way towards the room. It’s heavier, confident, and most definitely not May’s. He doesn’t get much time to ponder the new arrival before there’s another knock at the cardboard door.

“Do you require a password?” Tony’s voice jokes, and Peter sits up in shock.

“W-What? Mr. Stark?! What are you doing here?” Peter sputters.

“Hmmm,” Tony muses. “It’s probably something dorky. How about the scientific name for the spider? _Araneae.”_

Peter lowers the door, completely baffled at the very sudden change of events. Tony brightens, clapping his hands together.

“Ah, so I was right! Of course I’m right,” he says, and Peter just stares at him.

Tony is wearing casual clothes, probably in preparation for working in the lab with Peter. But that’s not what’s weird. The strange part is that he has a pillow tucked under one arm and a blanket in his other hand. Tony just stares right back, an eyebrow raised.

“What? I heard you were having a LEGO house sleepover and felt left out, so I invited myself because I’m an entitled billionaire,” Tony informs him. Peter has no idea what to say to that, so he just moves over and lets Tony climb in beside him.

The space isn’t huge, but it’s enough to fit them both, and if Peter were feeling better, he’d have this completely transcendental moment of, “Tony Stark is inside the LEGO castle I started building in sixth grade.” Instead, he just sits back while Tony situates himself, pillow behind his head and blanket tossed lazily over him.

And then they just lay there.

It’s not uncomfortable. Tony never pushes, so Peter doesn’t have to pull. He just lays there, mind churning with all the things he doesn’t know how to say, but now it’s not so unbearable. He takes comfort in knowing that there’s someone with him who truly gets it.

(Sometimes, just knowing that you’re not alone is enough.)

Eventually, Tony looks around him and makes an appreciative noise, drawing Peter’s attention back to the man beside him and away from the spiral furling inside of his head.

“This is impressive. I can’t believe you never mentioned it before,” he comments, and Peter shrugs.

“It’s my depression fort. It’s also kind of just me and Ned’s thing, ya know? We don’t really talk about it much outside of here because, well, we’re already dorky enough,” Peter explains.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Tony chastises, and Peter ducks his head. In his world, it kind of is. But in Tony’s world, it’s what makes him money.

Peter has a good life, but he still can’t help but be resentful, and he kind of hates that about himself. He hates a lot of things about himself, like how he didn’t know what to say to Ben when the man was dying, and when he couldn’t save the woman in the apartment fire a few months ago, and when he didn’t know how to make a scared child stop crying in the aftermath of a battle with the Avengers.

He’s not good for a lot, but he tries to make up for it. His mind just doesn’t like him to forget about his mistakes, especially at night.

Peter’s startled back into reality when a hand firmly taps his knee. He jerks in surprise, turning his head to find Tony watching him, thinly-veiled worry written on his face.

“Kid, you still with me?” Tony asks, eyes searching Peter’s.

Peter nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Tony scowls at that, giving Peter a gentle shove. “What’s my rule about apologies?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Don’t apologize for stupid things.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “Apologizing for thinking goes under the category of ‘stupid things.’ Just for future reference.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter says dryly.

They lapse back into silence, and Peter listens to the sound of Tony’s breaths, a steady in and out that grounds him, keeps him tethered to the here and now inside this LEGO house.

He looks over at his mentor, filled with a rush of appreciation and gratitude. And yeah, maybe he’ll always have to carry the ever-present weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but he’s not Atlas, carrying the sky alone. He has May. He has Tony. He even has all the other Avengers.

(He’s not alone. And that’s enough.)


	18. a festering wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depression, Peter thinks, acts like a physical wound.

Depression, Peter thinks, acts like a physical wound.

At first, it’s just a light sting - it’s manageable. Maybe it kind of gets in the way every now and then, but for the most part, it’s just mind over matter. But he doesn’t seek out help, because it’s not really a big deal.

His thoughts creep in like bacteria, aggravating a festering wound, and one day, he realizes that it’s definitely worse. That it gets in the way. It’s a constant burn, a continuous ache, and suddenly, it’s hard to get out of bed. It hurts.

It becomes infected - it infects _him._ Makes him sick. He doesn’t want to eat or move or do anything other than sleep. Spider-Man gets pushed to the back burner, and the guilt from that just makes the wound worse. Unmanageable. He can’t fix it on his own.

Physically, it shows. It seeps out of his eyes, paints his face a splotchy red. Leaves bruises under his eyes from all the sleep he can’t get, hollows out his stomach from lack of eating.

And the worst part is, he knows he’s not alone. He _knows_ that.

He sees it in the worried glances May tosses his way when she thinks he isn’t looking and the extra kisses she places on his forehead before he leaves for school. He sees it in the apple slices MJ sends his way at lunch - honey crisp, his favorite. He sees it in the way Ned invites him over to watch movies. He sees it in the way Tony works right next to him in the lab, a steady presence that never strays too far out of reach.

And yet, inexplicably, he feels alone.

Depression, Peter knows, is a balancing act. And, well, the scales are never really in his favor.

Tony and Pepper invite May and Peter over for dinner one night, no doubt an attempt to cheer him up while keeping an eye on him. He wonders if they see the infection now.

It’s a good dinner. Tony is, surprisingly, a good cook. The chicken parmesan looks wonderful, and Peter’s sure it probably tastes just as good, too. But his body is too full of thoughts to have room for food.

Peter can’t help but feel like depression has reduced him down to nothing more than an outline, colored in by the day’s latest spiral of thoughts.

“Peter, babe, can you pass me the green beans?” May asks, and Peter nods. He’d talk but if he does, he’ll make other people sick too. Drag them into his spiral. He can’t do that to May. He can’t.

He goes to pick up the bowl of greens, but when he does, his elbow knocks his glass of water.

The scale tips.

He flinches back, hands shaking, and for a moment, no one moves. In his head, he sees the worn bandages he’d been trying to use to keep it together unravel. There is something sick and twisted filling up every inch of his body, and he stares back at the adults with wide, broken eyes.

He sees the moment they see.

So he does the only thing he knows how: he runs.

This is how it goes:

Peter ends up on the rooftop, but he never makes it to the edge. Maybe he’s scared, maybe he’s just tired. Probably a bit of both. He falls to his knees, arms wrapped around himself, and he’s sick and can’t fix it himself because depression is a festering wound and he didn’t get help when he should have.

Tony gets to him first, face etched with a fear he doesn’t even try to conceal. He takes in the sight of Peter on the ground, arms wrapped around himself, and he doesn’t hesitate. He rushes over with hurried steps before dropping to the kid’s side and engulfing him in his arms.

The sound Peter makes is inhuman, the sound of dying animal, a cry for help that tears itself from his vocal chords.

“I’ve got you, buddy, I’ve got you,” Tony murmurs, rocking him gently. He watches as May bursts out onto the rooftop seconds later, out of breath from running.

He watches the look on May’s face transform as she takes in the sight before her, something protective and pained coloring her expression, heart aching in a way that only a mother’s can for her child.

She immediately drops in front of them, taking Peter’s tear-soaked face into one hand and stroking her fingers through his hair soothingly with her other. He stutters on an inhale and reaches out to her, grasping her shirt tightly in one hand.

“ _Help,”_ he whines, a desperate sound, and Tony and May sandwich him, hold him together where he couldn’t himself.

“We’re right here, baby,” May says fiercely, hugging him close. “And we’re not leaving. I promise.”

(Recovery doesn’t have much of an end, but it does have a beginning. For Peter, it looks like this: a tipping of the scales, a breaking point, a wound he can’t heal on his own. A cry for help. A hand reaching out.

You just have to believe someone will reach back.)

-

_And when you don’t feel strong enough to stand,  
you can reach  
reach out your hand_

_And oh, someone will come running  
and I know  
they’ll take you home._


	19. Homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter grapples with the fact that as you grow up, a lot of things are left in the past.

When Peter goes off to college, it’s an adjustment for both him and Tony.

The first time Peter goes an entire day without at least texting Tony, the man freaks out. Immediately assuming the worst, he puts on his suit and literally flies to MIT in a panic, sure that his kid is hurt.

Tony finds him eating Cook-Out in a study room in the library, except the kid isn’t studying. He and a couple other boys Tony doesn’t recognize have blankets on the floor with a laptop out in front of them. They’re watching _The Incredibles 2._

Needless to say, Tony can’t help but feel embarassed for days afterwards, especially with May and Pepper constantly laughing and reminding him what a mother hen he is. The kid is growing up - he doesn’t need to talk to Tony constantly. Something in the man’s chest aches a little at that.

The second time it happens, the kid hasn’t talked to him in four days and he’s not answering Tony’s calls. When he fails to respond to May’s texts and calls, they decide together that they’re allowed to worry.

Tony wastes no time in booking it to the university, heart racing as he thinks of all the reasons why Peter would go _four whole days_ without contacting anyone.

Maybe he’s being bullied and doesn’t want to talk to anyone. Maybe he tried to patrol and he’s lying somewhere, hurt. Oh god, maybe he’s been _kidnapped_ and Tony should have left much sooner and maybe -

He has the flu.

Tony bursts into the kid’s room, only to wrinkle his nose at the telltale smell of Sick Teenage Boy. The kid is curled up on his bed, fast asleep with a bucket beside him on the floor. Tony winces in sympathy, immediately sending a text to May and Pepper.

_Spider kid has the spider bug. Haha, get it? Anyway, once I get things cleaned up here, I’ll fly him back. I’m sure his roommate will appreciate it._

After those two initial incidents, May, Tony, and Peter sit down and have a discussion. Actually, mostly it’s just Peter trying to tell Tony that the man has “attachment issues” and needs to stop being “a total mother hen.” The kid smiles, though, and Tony knows the concern is appreciated, if not always necessary.

They _do_ decide that Peter will text if he needs anything and will send a message every couple of days just to reassure them that he’s okay (“Can you even blame me? The kid always finds a way to get hurt!”). If not, Tony’s allowed to come running.

It’s a system that works, for the most part.

But this time, it progresses differently. After three days, Tony just assumes the kid has forgotten. Peter’s gotten a lot more involved, joining various clubs and taking on different volunteer positions. It’s not surprising that he’s not finding as much time to socialize with May and Tony.

After the fourth day, May tries calling him and leaves a voicemail. Peter doesn’t call back, and May can’t help but worry. This time, though, it’s Tony who laughs and says, “You’ve been spending too much time around me. Kid’s probably playing some sort of nerd drinking game.”

She worries at her lip, a bad feeling in her gut, but she shrugs, figuring the man’s right. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” she teases, pushing her worry aside.

Once the weekend hits, though, worry starts to settle deep into Tony’s chest. He calls Peter again, frowning when it cuts off mid-ring. His calls are being intentionally ignored.

Tony calls one last time.

“Uh, heya, Pete,” he says, trying to go for nonchalant and completely failing. “Listen, I know you’re a Big Kid now, but your old man has heart problems, and your Aunt Hottie is too pretty to have these worry lines on her face. Just, uh, at least text us to let us know you’re okay.”

Tony waits. And waits and waits and waits, getting all the more agitated by the minute. May is at work, but he can’t wait any longer, a pit of dread opening up in his stomach, and he shoots her a quick text.

_Going to check on our kid._

He makes it to the school in record time, wasting no time before hacking his way into the building.

This time, he stops outside of Peter’s room before bursting in. Despite the tight knot of worry, they had agreed that Tony would learn to give Peter space to grow. Sometimes not rushing in is the only way to do that.

Tony listens for a moment, heart stopping when he hears it:

The sound of someone crying. Of _Peter_ crying.

Tony tosses privacy out the window and opens the door, aching at the sight before him. Much like last time, Peter is curled into a tight ball on his bed, but this time, he’s flipping through pages of the scrapbook May had given him for graduation, the only light in the room coming through the cracks in the closed blinds.

Peter doesn’t even look up when Tony walks in, and somehow, that’s even worse than what Tony had pictured. He quietly walks forward and sits on the edge of the kid’s bed, watching as Peter flips the page to a picture of Tony getting dunked for charity.

Tony smiles fondly at the memory. Peter was taking part in a charity event through the school, and he’d begged Tony to sit in the dunking booth and let high school students try to hit the target to send Iron Man falling into the icy water.

Peter, the snarky brat, had done it four times, and succeeded every time. Pepper made sure to capture all of it.

Tony gently places a hand on the kid’s head, sifting through the curls as a lone tear traces its way down Peter’s cheek.

“That was a good day,” Tony says, nodding to the photo, and Peter looks at him then, not even bothering to brush the tear away.

He looks at Tony with a look the man doesn’t quite understand, something sad and nostalgic in a way Tony’s not sure he’s ever felt.

Peter’s lower lip trembles, eyes filling with tears again as he leans into Tony’s touch.

“I miss it,” he croaks, voice rough with disuse, and Tony has the alarming realization that it’s probably been days since Peter’s spoken to anyone, if his room is anything to go by.

There are empty containers of Mac n cheese cups on the desk, and his book bag is slung haphazardly off his chair. The room is tinged with the smell of Teenage Boy, and Tony ventures a guess that it’s been a couple days since the kid’s showered.

Peter’s a mess.

“Me too,” Tony confesses softly, hating the way Peter’s hand trembles as he flips to the next page. They both look at the picture of MJ giving Peter a piggy-back ride while Ned laughs at whatever Peter’s said.

“I want to go _home_ ,” Peter says quietly, and Tony’s two seconds away from scooping the kid up and whisking him back to Queens.

“Done. We can go right now,” Tony immediately tells him, but Peter shakes his head. Tony studies him, confused. “I don’t - talk to me, bud. Why have you been ignoring our calls?”

Peter sniffles again, a pained sound, and it’s all Tony can do not to pull Peter into his lap like a little kid.

“I just - I just - I have to grow up some time, don’t I?”

He looks up at Tony with red-rimmed eyes, and he looks so sad and so tired that this time, Tony doesn’t even hold back. He gently pries the scrapbook from Peter’s grasp and shifts so that his back is against the wall, tugging Peter’s upper body into his lap.

“Pete, no,” Tony says gently, and the kid answers by hiding his face against Tony’s thigh. “I mean, yeah, but just because you’re away doesn’t mean that you can’t talk to us anymore.”

Peter slings an arm across Tony’s legs, effectively holding his mentor in place as Tony continues to tug soothingly at his hair.

“I know, but. I can’t. I can’t talk to you without missing home,” Peter whispers quietly, and Tony melts.

“Oh, kid.”

He should have known Peter would be missing them as much as they miss Peter.

“You know you can come home whenever you need to, right? Happy and I are always willing to come get you if your aunt can’t,” Tony tells him, and Peter smiles softly.

“I know.” He sighs heavily. “But. Home’s not really the same anymore, either. I want things to be how they used to be. I miss Ned and MJ and movie nights at the Compound and Thai dates with May and patrol through Queens.”

Peter’s throat closes up with a emotion, and he swallows thickly before continuing. “It’s not the same.”

Objectively, Tony gets it. But he never had a home to miss the way Peter does. Never really had a home worth missing. Not until Peter and Pepper and May.

“I know, bud,” Tony murmurs, massaging Peter’s head gently in just the right way. “It’s never going to be the way it was,” he agrees, and Peter makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat.

“But,” Tony continues, “these things?” He gestures to the scrapbook at their side. “You harassing me and vice versa? Laughs with MJ and Ned? Thai dates with May? Those are never really going to go away. We miss you too, kiddo.”

Peter nods, tears spilling over as he shifts himself so he’s laying on Tony’s chest, Tony’s arm wrapping firmly around his shoulder.

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter says, offering him a watery smile, and Tony squeezes him just a little tighter.

“Anytime, kid.”


	20. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets at least one, big tragedy. Peter gets many.

He thinks it long before he ever says it aloud.

The sentiment sits inside him like acid, making his stomach burn and eating away at his mind, feeding his anxiety. It is a ghost, a whisper in his ear, and it is inescapable.

He doesn’t even realize he’s stopped working until a hand hovers in front of his face, waving insistently.

“ _Peter_ ,” a voice says, tinged with a sharpness that indicates this isn’t the first time his name has been called. He blinks the away the fog in his mind, but he cannot keep it from corroding away at him from the inside.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” he apologizes, looking up at the man, wire strippers suspended in his slackened grip. Peter gives his head another quick shake, hating the way the thoughts cling to the walls of his skull like unwanted canvases.

Tony is studying him intently, head cocked in consideration as he takes in the boy before him. This is not the first time Peter’s completely zoned out. In fact, it’s been happening more and more.

And somehow, Peter always looks a little more worn afterwards.

But he’s resolved to give Peter his space. Since the snap, they’ve gotten much better at communicating. From impromptu movie nights whenever Peter can’t sleep and mental health days from school when he can’t get out of bed, they’ve been on the uphill.

But something about these zone-outs look a little too much like a downhill tumble for Tony’s taste, and he doesn’t want to push the kid, but damn if he just wants to help.

Peter, however, doesn’t seem inclined to share. The kid merely offers a weak smile and slides the end of the wire into the stripper before squeezing the tool.

Tony takes that as his cue to keep working, and he goes back to the hologram before him, tweaking the proportions and double-checking measurements. The kid, he knows, will come to him in time.

That time comes much sooner than expected. Tony is just getting elbow-deep into another suit when he hears Peter put his tools down and walk over to the table Tony’s working at, crouching down and resting his chin on his arms as he watches Tony.

Tony, for his part, doesn’t react outwardly, not wanting to spook the kid into changing his mind.

After what feels like hours, Peter speaks.

“Do you ever think about when your next tragedy will be?” the kid asks nonchalantly, and it takes everything in Tony not to give him a sharp look. His arms tense minutely where he’s working, but otherwise, he forces himself into a sense of false calmness.

“Considering our line of work, I make it a point _not_ to,” Tony says. Peter stays silent, and Tony can’t help but feel like he let the kid down somehow.

He sighs, setting his tools down and fixing the kid with a pressing stare. “Why?” he prompts. Peter’s eyes take on a faraway look that leaves Tony feeling cold with dread.

Peter shrugs, chin still resting on his folded arms. “I dunno.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says in disbelief, turning back to his work.

“Being a superhero sucks,” Peter states bluntly then, and Tony snorts.

“You’re only just realizing?” Tony deadpans, shining a flashlight into the suit and dislodging a stuck wire.

“It’s just - you know how most people get, like, one big tragedy in their lifetime?” Peter muses.

And Tony kind of wants to tell him that no, no he doesn’t know, because his whole life has been one tragedy strung to the next. Instead, he just says, “Sure, kid.”

Peter swallows thickly, and Tony knows that it’s taking a lot more out of him to have this conversation than he’s showing.

“Being a superhero sucks,” he repeats, and Tony watches as the kid’s eyebrows furrow in frustration, seemingly unable to get past the phrase.

Peter heaves a shaky breath and looks at Tony with an unadulterated fear that catches the man completely off guard. Tony quickly puts everything down again, fixing all of his attention on the teen in front of him.

“Pete, what’s going on in that genius brain of yours, hm?” he questions gently.

For a second, Tony thinks the kid is going to ignore him, but then Peter sits back on his heels and rakes a stressed hand through his hair.

“First, it was my parents,” Peter starts, wringing his hands anxiously. “And then it was Ben,” he says, breath hitching on the name. “And then it was Toomes and the building, and after that it was the snap.” He looks up at Tony, eyes shining with unshed tears, and Tony understands.

“You’re wondering what’s next,” he finishes for him, and Peter nods, tugging at his sleeves.

Peter clears his throat, hating the way the words burn like acid on their way up. “I’m scared,” he whispers, a quiet confession, and Tony’s heart clenches as he makes his way over to the kid, crouching down in front of him.

Tony thinks of all the things he could say.

“You don’t have to be.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But neither of them would believe those words, and Peter lives in a world that’s constantly shaking apart. So instead, Tony pulls the kid close and gives him words that are rock solid in their certainty.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” Tony acknowledges, running a comforting hand through Peter’s curls. “But whatever the world dares to throw at you next? You won’t have to face it alone.”

(For every tragedy that occurs, there is someone left broken in the aftermath. And maybe it won’t be the last one, but the in-betweens, the moments when you find healing with other people? That makes it a little easier.

Hold tight to those people and never let go.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written on February 14, 2019. In memory of the 17 people killed in the Marjory Stoneman Douglas shooting.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: After the Snap, Peter hates sand/dirt/anything that slightly resembles ash so when his decathlon team takes a trip to the beach in the summer, Peter won't walk on the sand without his shoes on and will only sit on a towel.

“Can you believe Mr. Harrington is letting us do this?” Ned asks Peter excitedly as they get onto the fancy charter bus.

“Yes,” MJ says from behind them. “What was he supposed to say when Tony Stark told him, ‘Hey, I want to take the Decathlon team on a trip, because they deserve a break’ - no?”

“She’s got a point,” Tony says, smirking from where he’s already sitting in the front seat.

He looks different from the very put-together version of himself the world usually sees. He’s dressed casually in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, along with his trademark sunglasses, and Peter grins at him.

“Pepper says no to you all the time,” he points out as he and Ned take the pair of seats across from Tony. “Especially that time you told her you wanted to hire someone solely to make donuts for you.”

Tony gives him an incredulous look. “First of all, I told you that in confidence. Second of all, why do you call _her_ by her first name but I’m still ‘Mr. Stark’?”

Peter grins mischievously. “Because she’s cooler.”

Tony shrugs. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

Beside him, Ned is watching their interaction with wide eyes. Peter sits back in his seat and looks on as the rest of the team shuffles onto the bus, immediately talking in hushed voices as they catch sight of Tony.

For his part, Tony just smiles warmly and greets them all individually, and Peter laughs under his breath when Flash comes aboard. All the warmth leaves Tony’s face as he eyes Flash coldly, and the teen stumbles nervously, shooting Peter a quick look before making a beeline for the back.

Peter glances at Ned to see if he caught the exchange, but he’s still frozen in awe. Peter rolls his eyes and elbows him.

“Really, man? We’ve been over this. That right there?” he points to Tony, who’s eyes are sparkling with mirth behind his glasses. “That’s just a normal human. I mean, yeah, he’s a genius and a billionaire, and he saved the whole world from a mad Titan, but Pepper has to remind him to eat. And he always loses the TV remote.”

“Even better. We stan a relatable icon,” Ned says, and MJ huffs from her seat behind them.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I try my best. Anyway, what do you guys want to do? I brought snacks, cards, and a couple different movies - all _Star Wars_ , of course,” Ned tells him.

“You’re so predictable. I have a better idea,” she tells them, standing up to address the rest of the bus. “Yo! I made a Kahoot on movies through the decades. Winner gets a free pass to skip a meeting without facing my eternal anger and resentment.”

“She’s talking to you, Parker!” Cindy calls, and Peter laughs good-naturedly. He’s notorious for skipping out on practice.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter grumbles, taking out his phone. “Hope you guys are ready to lose.”

In the back, Mr. Harrington looks like he wants to say something, but as everyone starts bickering and challenging each other, he decides to just sit back and let it happen.

The game lasts the full hour it takes to get to the beach. Ned beats Peter by one question, and Peter is one hundred percent sure he will never live it down.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “A hacker and a movie buff, huh?”

Ned nearly chokes at being directly addressed. “Mr. Iron Man Tony Stark, I am _so_ sorry about hacking into - “ he lowers his voice to a whisper, “ - the suit, but, well - Peter made me do it!”

Peter groans. “I hate you. I really do. I’m going to literally throw you under the bus,” he threatens as the bus backs into a parking space.

“That wouldn’t be very neighborly or friendly,” Ned says pointedly, and Tony snorts.

“You’re fine, kid. If anything, I was impressed,” Tony tells him, and Ned wheezes.

Mr. Harrington makes his way to the front as everyone talks excitedly.

“You know the drill. Don’t disappear, don’t drown, don’t get kidnapped, stay in pairs, don’t buy sketchy things from sketchy strangers, and just don’t do anything that will cause me or Mr. Stark a lot of paperwork,” he tells the group.

“Amen to that,” Tony mutters, and everyone laughs, already halfway out of their seats.

“Wait!” Mr. Harrington continues. “You guys need to be changed into dry clothes and back on the bus by 6:30. Snacks are in the cooler, and we’re getting dinner on the way back. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” the students chant in unison. Appeased, he steps aside and lets the students file off the bus.

Peter, Ned, and MJ quickly gather their things and make their way to the boardwalk in their sandals and swimwear. MJ points out a little ghost crab scurrying across one of the dunes as they walk.

When they step onto the sand, Peter halts, blood freezing in his veins.

Little grains of sand have already gotten into his sandals, the gritty sensation horrifyingly familiar. It takes his breath away. Beside him, Ned pauses.

“What’s wrong?” his friend asks, missing the ashen look on Peter’s face.

Peter clears his throat, trying to quell the increasing panic. “I, uh - n-nothing. I just forgot something on the bus. You guys go on ahead. I’ll be right back.”

“You sure?” Ned asks, and Peter nods, swallowing down his nerves. MJ narrows her eyes at him, but he shakes his head subtly, and she nods, steering Ned to the water, where everyone else is already toeing at the waves.

As soon as they’re away, Peter steps back onto the boardwalk and kicks his shoes off, trying to get the sand away from him as he runs on bare feet back to the bus. He passes Mr. Harrington.

“Forgot something,” Peter mutters shortly, not even bothering to stop. He just needs to get _away._ He hates himself for not anticipating this.

The doors thankfully, are still open, and the bus driver is standing a few feet away as he talks on the phone. Peter runs onto the bus and runs smack into Tony.

 _Shit,_ Peter curses to himself. _I thought he was already off._

“Peter?” Tony asks, hands coming up to Peter’s shoulders, steadying him. The kid is panting now, breaths coming in short little gasps.

All he can think of is how, not that long ago, he was in pieces, no bigger than grains of sand. Dust. Ash. He hates all of it, hates how it makes him feel, how it makes him _remember._

 _“_ Peter - Pete, hey hey,” Tony soothes, gently lowering him onto a seat. “Breathe, buddy. Just breathe, everything’s okay.”

Peter nods, trying to steady himself as he twists his hand into Tony’s sleeve, grounding himself. Tony scans the kid, trying to figure out what could have set him off. That’s when he notices the bare feet, red and raw from the heat of the pavement.

Already forming an idea of what happened, Tony quietly talks Peter through the panic attack, gently easing him back into the here and now.

Eventually, Peter slumps forward, head coming to rest on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony brings a hand up to rest in the soft curls.

“You’re safe, kid, I promise,” Tony murmurs. “Want to tell me what happened?” he asks.

Peter shakes his head, but his mouth opens to speak anyway. “It was the sand,” he says hoarsely, and Tony nods to himself, cursing himself for thinking of this ahead of time. “It just - I know it’s stupid, but it makes me think of - of - “

Tony’s grip tightens around him. “It is _not_ stupid, Peter. What you went through was traumatic. It’s not just going to go away.”

“Everyone else got dusted too, but they don’t - they don’t flinch at everything that so much as resembles it,” Peter counters, pulling away from him.

“Everyone else didn’t feel it like you did,” Tony says firmly. “And even if they did, it doesn’t matter. Everyone reacts to trauma differently.”

“I guess,” Peter mutters, looking down at his feet with a sigh.

“Do you want to go home?” Tony asks. “I can have Happy come pick us up.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, no. I, uh. Don’t want to ruin this for anyone.” Tony opens his mouth to protest, but Peter cuts him off. “I have a pair of tennis shoes for the ride back. I’m just going to change into those and maybe sit on a towel. I should be fine.”

“You sure?” Tony checks as Peter sifts through his bag and pulls out his old tennis shoes.

“Yeah,” Peter says, quickly pulling them on and standing up. They walk quietly across the boardwalk, Tony keeping an eye out for any signs of distress as they get closer to the sand.

Peter takes a deep breath and tenses as he steps onto the sand but relaxes when it doesn’t evoke the same sickening feeling as before.

Tony smiles proudly and briefly pulls him close before pointing to where MJ and Ned are sitting on their respective towels, just far enough out of reach from the waves.

“Looks like your friends are waiting for you,” he comments, and Peter grins, jogging over with his towel.

“Hey! You guys didn’t want to get in?” Peter asks, carefully spreading his towel out on the ground next to them.

“Too cold,” MJ answers shortly, even as everyone else splashes in the waves. There’s a knowing look in her eyes as she watches Tony lay out his towel next to them.

Peter nods, trying to convey his gratitude.

“Plus, it’s much more fun to watch Flash try to swim. He’s surprisingly awful at it,” Ned chimes in.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll get caught in a rip current,” MJ jokes, and Peter gives her a chastising nudge while both Ned and Tony laugh.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter scolds, but MJ shrugs as if to say, _Your point?_

The four of them spend hours like that, just sitting and talking and exchanging jokes. By the time they’re back on the bus, both MJ and Ned have been offered paid internships, which Ned accepts through a happy squeal, and MJ politely says she needs some time to think about it.

All in all, it was a good trip.


	22. stay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time after therapy that Tony asks, “How’re you doing, kid?” Peter glares at him. How the fuck is he supposed to answer that? Is he supposed to feel better already after only one session?
> 
> “I want to die."

Whenever you’re suicidal, Peter realizes, the feeling never quite leaves. It comes in waves, yes, but the undercurrent is always there. There are moments when the waves crash over him and knock him off his feet, and there are moments when it’s a silent force, a mere whisper in his ear.

He thinks of how it felt, hanging half out a window and thinking that tipping all the way forward sounds like a relief from the constant, aching exhaustion that erodes and chips away at his brain.

It sucks.

It became a nightly a thing. Sit on the roof. Sit on the roof. Sit on the roof. Ride the spiral in his head like a rollercoaster and think about hopping off. But he couldn’t.

Tony wouldn’t let him.

Apparently, even when you’re Spider-Man, sitting on the edge of the roof every night is cause for concern. Something about “red flags” or whatever. So now Peter takes a super-kid-sized dose of anti-depressants everyday and goes to therapy every other Wednesday.

All fun stuff.

The first time after therapy that Tony asks, “How’re you doing, kid?” Peter glares at him. How the fuck is he supposed to answer that? Is he supposed to feel better already after only one session?

“I want to die,” Peter retorts, and Tony raises an eyebrow at him, but his eyes tighten with concern and his chest aches. The kid shouldn’t have to know how that feels.

Seeing the look on his mentor’s face, Peter immediately slumps in his seat, trying to push away the feeling of guilt.

“…But no more than the normal amount, I guess,” Peter mutters, and Tony’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and worry, not knowing how that made it any better.

Seeing his look, Peter sighs. “Look. It’s not just going to go away, okay? It’s not - “ He runs a stressed hand through his hair. “ - I can’t. I can’t do this if everyone expects me to just _be okay_ now. I still want to fling myself off a fucking cliff. Just no more or less than usual.”

“Okay. I hear you,” Tony says, nodding, and he waits until they pull into the parking garage before he turns to Peter and pierces him with a serious stare.

“Listen to me, bud: No one expects anything from you. All we want is for you to be honest with yourself and us, and to accept the help we want to give you. And if that means telling us you want to die, that that’s your normal? We’ll still be here anyway. But Pete - the second that it becomes more than the usual, I want you to tell someone, okay?”

There’s a moment of heavy silence, where the only thing that can be heard is the sound of Peter’s agitated breaths. Eventually, he looks down and fiddles with the latch on the door.

By the time he says, “Okay,” he’s already halfway out of the car.

-

It becomes a regular thing.

Tony tried to get Peter to set up the system with May, too, but Peter remained adamant that he’s already hurting her enough without making her hear on the daily, straight from his mouth, that he wants to die.

So it’s just a Peter and Tony thing, and that’s okay for now.

When Tony picks him up from school for the internship, Peter’s waiting with Ned, laughing at some stupid _Star Wars_ pun Ned had made, and Tony can’t help but smile.

It’s been awhile since he’s seen the kid laugh.

Peter says goodbye to his friend and opens the door with a grin. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, kid,” Tony greets back, watching with amusement as Peter fumbles with the seatbelt in his haste. “A good day, then?”

Peter nods. “I wanted to die, like, way less than the normal amount. It’s still there because, ya know, depression, but.” He stops, waving a hand in front of him helplessly.

“I get it, kid,” Tony says softly, and he does. God does he get it. “But I’m glad today was better.”

“Me too,” Peter responds genuinely. Tony can’t help but reach out and ruffle the kid’s wild curls affectionately before driving off.

“In that case, why don’t we celebrate? Ice cream for dinner?” Tony suggests, and Peter smiles shyly.

“Won’t Pepper have your hide for that?” he asks, and Tony shrugs.

“Not if we get her some, too,” Tony says, and Peter laughs.

It’s the best sound Tony’s heard in awhile.

-

The bad days happen, too, the tsunamis. And Peter tries so hard on those days, he really does. He gets out of bed, he brushes his teeth, and he goes to school. He does his schoolwork. But God, everything extra is just so damn hard.

When he gets into the car this time, Tony can practically see a dark cloud around the kid. Peter sits slumped in his seat, tired eyes avoiding Tony’s, and all he manages to say is a quick, “Hey.”

Tony’s chest squeezes with concern, and he hesitantly asks, “You okay?”

Peter darts a quick look at him before going back to studying his shoes. “Fine. I mean, aside from wanting to die the normal amount.”

Tony cocks his head at that. This isn’t typical “normal amount” behavior for Peter, but he doesn’t want to push. So he simply says, “Okay. DUM-E made a sculpture he’s been dying to show you all day.”

Peter manages the barest of smiles at that, a small quirk of the lips, but at least it’s something.

The ride is spent in a pleasant silence, but there’s an undercurrent in the air, a buzz that’s surrounding the kid that Tony can’t quite ignore. He watches from the corner of his eye as Peter starts to tug on his sleeves anxiously, his leg rapidly moving up and down.

Several times, Peter looks up at Tony and opens his mouth as if to say something, but something seems to make him change his mind. So Tony waits.

It isn’t until they’re in the lab, comfortably settled into their respective work spaces, that Peter speaks up.

“I, uh,” he clears his throat nervously. “I lied earlier.” Tony looks up at him and puts his tools down, focusing his full attention on Peter.

“I want to die. Um, more than the usual amount, that is,” Peter confesses, voice shaky with nerves. He tears at his sleeves, a nervous habit he can’t seem to quell, and swallows thickly. “I - I can’t fix it. I’m - I’m trying, but I just.”

He fixes Tony with a look of pure desperation that has the man across the room, arms around the kid, in seconds. “I really don’t want to be here, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers into the man’s chest, voice cracking. “I can’t fix it. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I know, buddy, I know. But you don’t have to fix it right now,” Tony murmurs softly.

Tony tightens his arms around the kid, tugging him as close as possible, trying to hold Peter together and keep him afloat as best as he can.

“You just have to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. guess i'm not doing so hot lmao.


	23. Constants and Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes I think it's all I am."
> 
> In which Peter learns that he is not his mental illness.

“Hey, kid,” Tony greets as Peter plops onto the couch next to him and immediately buries his face into Tony’s shoulder. “You good?”

When Peter shakes his head, Tony frowns. It’s a lazy Saturday morning, and they’re supposed to spend all day in the lab. It’s Peter’s favorite kind of day. Well, usually. The kid sighs heavily against his shoulder, and Tony reflexively brings a hand up to card through his hair soothingly.

“I hate being sad,” Peter states, and Tony tenses. This is something they’ve been working on. Reaching out.

“Is there anything in particular you’re sad about?” Tony prompts, and Peter shrugs, bringing his knees up so he can properly curl into Tony’s side.

Now that Peter’s depression is out in the open and something they’ve been working through, Tony’s noticed just how clingy the kid can be. He’d be lying if he said it bothers him.

“No,” Peter answers. “I just am.” He pauses for a second, hand gripping the front of Tony’s shirt tightly. When he speaks again, his voice sounds different, like water rushing over broken glass. A painful perseverance. “Sometimes I think it’s all I am.”

Tony’s already shaking his head, gently pulling back and tilting Peter’s face up to look him in the eye.

“Nope, I’m gonna have to stop you right there, bud. You are not your depression. You’re Peter Parker. You’re a dorky kid who loves cheesy puns and LEGOs and has an incredible passion for science. You’re selfless and kind and love chocolate chip waffles. But you are not Depression. You have depression, but it’s not you,” Tony says fiercely.

Peter looks down, wrapping his arms around his knees and twisting his hands nervously. There is doubt etched into his face, and Tony wants nothing more than to erase it.

“You know those kids you visit every Friday? In the hospital, the ones with cancer?” Tony asks. Peter nods in confusion, waiting to see where his mentor is going with this. “Do you think that those kids are just… cancer and nothing more?”

Peter immediately shakes his head. “That’s completely different!” he protests, but Tony just fixes him with a steady look. He will not waver. He needs his kid to understand.

“It’s not,” Tony says firmly. “They were who they are before they got an illness. And they’re still that person. Maybe a bit changed, yeah, but that’s how experiences work. Illnesses are things you experience, things that happen _to_ you. They are not what you are.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest again, but Tony doesn’t let him. “Kid,” he says gently. “Depression is called a mental illness for a reason. It’s just that - an illness. Just like cancer. A does not equal B. Peter does not equal Depression. Two separate things.”

Math. Variables. That, Peter understands. He considers this for a moment.

“I’m… I’m a constant,” Peter says uncertainly. “And… Depression is the x? Is that what you’re saying?”

Tony nods. “Exactly. So maybe right now the equation is y = x + 2. Y is life. And you’re the constant, 2. You’ve always been 2, that’s who you are. You have depression, x. It’s an added variable, something that happened to you. It’s part of your life but it’s not part of you. Does that make sense?”

Tony watches Peter’s face as he thinks this over. Writes the simple equation in his head. Decides if it works.

“If x, depression, is a big number, then it plays a larger role in my life,” Peter muses. “But if it’s smaller, if it can be reduced then - then it’s just a smaller part of my life, but I’m still me.”

Peter looks up at Tony with fragile eyes, something akin to hope swimming in them. The realization that he is separate, that being sad is not part of his identity, makes him feel like maybe it will be okay.

Tony carefully wraps his arm around Peter and pulls him close again, smiling softly when the kid sighs, this time in content.

“Okay?” he asks, and Peter nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. “But being sad still fucking sucks.”

Tony ruffles his hair and smiles sympathetically. “I know, buddy. How does ice cream for breakfast sound?”

Peter’s face slowly breaks into a grin. “Like a good reason to be happier.”

“I’d have to agree,” Tony says, lurching to his feet and pulling the kid up with him before heading to the kitchen, one arm slung casually around the kid.

(Do not let your mental illness define you. You are so much more than that. You always have been and always will be.)


	24. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little thing I wrote for my love @underoosstark's birthday. Peter & Tony make ice cream.

“You know, kid, when you said you wanted to make ice cream, this is not what I imagined,” Tony comments, surveying the counter in front of him. “What are the plastic bags for?”

Peter turns from where he’s organizing all the ingredients and gapes at him. “You mean you’ve _never_ made ice cream in a bag?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “No, I can’t say that I have, actually. We had a chef who made it for us. And certainly not in a _plastic bag,”_ Tony says wryly. _I never really had a childhood at all,_ is what he doesn’t say.

Peter quickly tosses an apron at Tony, who catches it with startled hands. “The hell am I supposed to do with this?”

The kid merely rolls his eyes at him. “You know, for a genius, you’re kind of stupid sometimes,” he says cheekily, and Tony winces.

“Okay, you little shit, I know I’m supposed to put it on, but why this one? ‘Women do it better’? Really?” Tony scoffs, and Peter just gives him an amused look.

“May made it for Pepper last Christmas,” Peter reminds him and Tony nods.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he concedes, putting the apron on and stepping next to Peter with an uncertain look.

Peter places a bowl in front of him before sliding a glass Pyrex over. “Here, measure out two cups of milk and put it in the bowl while I add the sugar and vanilla.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Tony quips with a mock salute.

“Oh hush, this is a _religious_ experience,” Peter scolds, pouring half a cup of sugar into the bowl. “It’s, like, a rite of passage. Holy shit, Ned is going to be _so_ excited when I tell him I showed you how to make ice cream.”

Tony smiles at the mention of Peter’s friend. Despite the rather exhausting nature of Ned’s brand of hero-worship, Tony couldn’t help but become rather fond of the kid. “He should join us next time,” Tony remarks.

Something in his chest twinges when he’s instantly met with Peter’s bright eyes, shining with something still so inexplicably joyful at the mention of _next time._ Tony knows that there’s a part of Peter that will never stop being afraid that Tony will lose interest in him or whatever other worst-case scenarios the kid’s managed to think up of.

“Oh, he’d _love_ that,” Peter gushes as Tony pours in the milk. “Good, you can stir it now,” he adds, passing Tony the spoon.

While Tony does that, Peter quickly opens up two plastic bags and grabs the measuring cup. When Tony’s deemed the mixture as sufficiently stirred, he gives Peter an expectant look.

“What now, Spider-Chef?” Tony teases, and Peter huffs at the nickname.

“Pour half a cup of the mixture into each of these, and then once we double bag them, we can stick the bags in those containers with the ice and rock salt,” Peter commands, and Tony smoothly follows the instructions.

“Next?” he asks as Peter plucks the bags from his grasp and places them in the plastic containers before sealing the lids. Peter smiles widely and passes one of the containers to Tony.

“Now comes the fun part!” Peter says excitedly. “We shake!”

Without waiting for Tony to start, Peter begins enthusiastically shaking the container, and Tony winces at the sound of rattling ice. He amuses himself by taking a moment to simply watch the kid, who looks younger than Tony’s seen him act in a long time.

“FRIDAY, play ‘Money Money Money’ from the Mamma Mia soundtrack,” Peter says in the general direction of the ceiling before looking back at Tony. “Come on, Mr. Stark! You have to shake it or it won’t work!”

Tony rolls his eyes but starts shaking the container, smiling fondly as he realizes Peter’s rattling his container to the beat of the song.

“You nerd,” Tony teases affectionately, letting himself fall into a rhythm, too. “How long do we do this for again?”

“Like five minutes or so,” Peter tells him, hopping onto the counter and swinging his legs wildly while his arms continue to work.

When the song changes to “Dancing Queen,” Peter happily adjusts to the beat of the song, mouthing the words and swaying back and forth happily. For a moment, Tony’s breath is caught by how _domestic_ the sight is. The thought startles him so much that he quickly searches for a way to distract himself.

He smirks to himself, waiting for the chorus before starting to dramatically dance and sway his hips as he continues to shake the container. Peter’s eyes widen comically.

“Oh my god, Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims, unable to decide between looking horrified or looking amused.

“FEEL THE BEAT FROM THE TAMBOURINE!” Tony sings loudly and wildly off-key.

Peter abandons his container in favor of placing his hands over his eyes. “Oh God, Mr. Stark, _stop it! My poor eyes!”_ he wails jokingly as Tony just laughs and continues singing, adjusting his voice to stay surprisingly in pitch.

It reminds Peter of when Ben used to randomly serenade May in public. May thought it was hilarious - she absolutely loved it - but Peter was always so embarrassed.

“Having the time of your life…!” Tony sings, still dancing as he walks over to Peter and gently pries his hand away from his face before pulling the kid off the counter.

“Absolutely not,” Peter says resolutely when Tony gestures for him to dance, too.

“Oh come on, kid. Don’t be a chicken. Besides, it’s just us here,” Tony taunts.

“Yeah, us and an omnipresent AI who sees all and records all,” Peter mutters, but hesitantly begins to move nevertheless, picking up his container again. He’s so awkward and endearing that Tony could swear is hear swells three times its size.

As the song plays, they start making fun of each other’s moves, mocking each other and laughing until they’re leaning on the counter, trying to catch their breath as the song ends.

When he’s no longer gasping for air, Peter looks at the container in his hands and wonders, “Think it’s done?”

“I’d say that was well over five minutes, wouldn’t you?” Tony answers.

Peter nods excitedly, grabbing a pair of scissors to cut a hole in the corner of the bags while Tony sets a pair of bowls in front of him. He pipes the creamy dessert into the bowls, smiling widely when Tony hands him chocolate syrup and whipped cream.

“Perfect!” he exclaims. Tony raises an eyebrow as he stares at the kid’s bowl.

“How about a little ice cream with that whipped cream, Pete?” Tony asks dryly.

“The whipped cream’s the best part!” Peter protests defensively, ducking his head when Tony just ruffles his hair affectionately.

“So you’ve told me,” Tony comments, handing him a spoon. “Now, let’s see if this actually tastes good.”

“Of course it does,” Peter scoffs, sounding offended. Still, there’s something uncertain in his eyes as he waits for Tony to taste creamy mixture.

Tony’s face is unreadable as he lets the dessert melt on his tongue before swallowing. He lets his face break out into a big smile, and Peter lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

“I’ve gotta say, kid,” Tony says, slinging an arm over Peter’s shoulders and briefly pulling him close. “That’s the best damn ice cream I’ve had in a long while.”

(He made it with Peter. Of course it is.)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You smell like a wet dog."

“What do you _mean_ you’ve never played in the rain before?” Peter asks, giving Tony an incredulous look.

Tony shrugs. “I’ve been caught in the rain before, which is basically the same thing, and I’d imagine it’s just as unpleasant.”

“But that’s different!” Peter protests. “When you’re caught in the rain, of course it’s unpleasant! You didn’t, like, consent to it.”

Tony stares at him, eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

Peter cringes, face reddening. “Okay, not the best way I could have phrased that. But you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” Tony tells him, eyes sparkling with amusement at the look on the kid’s face. It doesn’t last long, though. Peter’s face brightens suddenly with excitement, and Tony groans inwardly.

“Well, there’s no time like the present to fix that!” Peter says enthusiastically, looking to where the rain is pattering against the window.

This time Tony groans audibly. “Absolutely not. I’m - busy. Paperwork. You know how it is in the life of a genius, billionaire, philanthropist. Sorry, it can’t be helped,” Tony says, not sounding sorry at all.

Peter crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. “Come on, this is the best time for it! There’s not even any lightening or thunder.”

Tony toys with his tablet to avoid looking Peter straight in his puppy eyes, knowing that as soon as he does, the battle will be lost. “Sorry, kid. Things to do. Places to be.”

“You’ve been sitting here for the last two hours watching Cap’s PSA videos on repeat and laughing,” Peter points out. “I’ll tell Pepper about that time you lost control of your gauntlet and burnt a hole through her favorite painting and had to pay for the original artist to replicate it,” he threatens smugly.

“Oh, you little shit.” Tony narrows his eyes at him. He huffs, feeling himself already giving in. Brat. “Fine. But only for a minute.”

“Yes!” Peter cheers triumphantly, grabbing Tony’s arm and hauling him to his feet. “It’s be great, I promise.” The kid looks so damn excited as he drags them to the door leading outside the Compound that Tony can’t help the small smile that comes to his face.

Tony stops them right before they step out, staring dubiously at the falling rain. “Is this really necessary?”

“It’s practically a rite of passage, old man,” Peter insists.

“Um, who do you think you’re call-” Tony doesn’t get a chance to finish before Peter flings the door open and tugs him into the rain. “Jesus, that’s cold!”

Peter just laughs loudly and runs forward, holding out his arms enthusiastically as rain quickly starts soaking through his clothes. Tony curses under his breath as the cold water seeps to his skin, and he shivers lightly.

“Don’t be a baby, Mr. Stark!” Peter taunts with a mischievous look on his face. He quickly darts a hand out and taps Tony’s arm, and Tony gives him a baffled look. “Tag, you’re it!” Peter calls before running off.

Tony closes his eyes for a second, wondering how the hell his life has come to this. “Really? Oh, that’s not childish _at all!”_ Tony says sarcastically, but Peter just looks back at him with a dopey smile.

And all at once, it hits Tony: Peter still _is_ a kid. He just rarely gets a chance to act like one. Tony shakes his head and wipes the water out of his eyes, grumbling, “I’m too old for this,” before taking off after the kid.

Peter yelps delightedly, slipping and sliding on the wet grass as he runs. It’s an unfair game from the start - Peter is younger and more sure-footed as he runs, while Tony is struggling not to fall and bust his knees.

Sure enough, Tony hits a slippery patch of mud, and his feet skid before he loses his footing entirely. “Shit!” he curses loudly, and Peter stops and looks at him, eyes wide.

“Mr. Stark, are you -” Peter starts to go to his aid, but Tony pushes himself up on his elbows, cringing at the squelching sound. He doesn’t need to look to know he’s covered in mud. He glares at Peter, who looks like he’s biting back a laugh now that he sees Tony’s okay.

“You, Mr. Parker, are _entirely_ too clean,” Tony tells him, and the smile dies from Peter’s face as horror takes over. Tony smirks playfully and lurches to his feet. He commands his suit to form around his feet and hands, letting it lift him into the air and hover above the ground.

“Wait, that’s not fair!” Peter whines, already taking off across the field.

Tony flies after him, staying close to the ground. “Who said anything about fair?”

As Tony gets closer, Peter starts zig-zagging, and Tony lets out a bark of laughter. “I’m not a damn crocodile, Pete! That’s not going to help you.” Tony reaches out to grab him, but Peter ducks his head out of the way and tries to double back.

“I don’t think so!” Tony flips in the air and follows him.

“Oh, come _on!”_ Peter exclaims in exasperation. “It’s not _my_ fault you can’t keep up and fell!”

Tony laughs in disbelief. “Well, _now_ you’ve done it. No mercy from me, kiddo.”

Tony lines up next to Peter and snags his arm, retracting the pieces of his suit and letting them both fall to the ground, angling himself so Peter doesn’t take the brunt of the fall.

Peter yelps loudly and wiggles, trying to escape Tony’s grip as the man carefully pushes Peter into the mud, laughing at the look of disgust on his face.

“ _Mr. Stark!”_ Peter yells, swatting his mentor away, even as he grins widely, accepting his defeat. Content that the kid is now just as dirty as him, Tony pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand to Peter, who clumsily pulls himself up.

“You played dirty!” Peter accuses him, giving Tony a mock pout.

“Literally, it seems,” Tony jokes. Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, come here,” Tony says, slinging an arm around the kid and pulling him to his side.

“No, I’m mad at you.” Peter bats at his arm half-heartedly, even as he leans into the embrace.

“No, you’re not,” Tony says matter-of-factly, ruffling his hair as they head back into the building and out of the rain. He scrunches his nose. “You smell like a wet dog.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Peter says pointedly.

“Uh… yours, actually. It was your idea to play in the rain,” Tony reminds him.

“Whatever,” Peter says, and Tony laughs.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get changed before Pepper comes in and yells at us for tracking mud into the building.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I've been posting a few short fics to my tumblr, so I thought I'd go ahead and make a place on here to consolidate them. If you'd like, feel free to request fics and send in prompts @the-great-escapism, and I'll try to get around to them eventually. However, I won't be super active until finals are over, but still send them in!
> 
> I'll update the tags and summary each time I post a new one. Comments and kudos are super appreciated!


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